Worn Out Welcome
by Tarado
Summary: 1 year after ANH, the Alliance intercepts a secret communique between Vader and Palpatine that changes everything. AU. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

I do not own Star Wars. Enjoy!

The Princess was leaning forward, elbows on the Dejarik table, hands on either side of her temples, expression earnest, eyes wide with an alarm Solo was not accustomed to seeing.

"Captain Solo." Her voice was low, as if she thought they might be overheard, despite the fact that Han had just turned the surround sound system to the sultry sounds of Barbellian Beatstick music, partially in demonstration of the new amp he had just installed, partly to cover the sounds of their voices and address her spoken doubts over whether or not the _Falcon_ was a secure place to talk, and partly to try to unnerve her with the raw, unfettered music of a culture about as opposite from the royal courts of Alderaan as it was possible to get.

Leia wasn't even fazed.

"I trust that what I am about to say will go no further than this room."

Han slouched in his seat, mildly annoyed that he couldn't annoy her. "Anything, Your Worship," he drawled, fighting to avoid getting sucked into the serious atmosphere she projected. "I'm listening."

The Princess glanced around her one more time for good measure, folded her arms tightly together in front of her. "Just yesterday, the Alliance intercepted and decoded a level 4 encrypted communique between Darth Vader and the Emperor. There was an emergency meeting of High Command this morning." She lowered her voice. "The message is about Luke."

Solo blinked. "Luke?" He echoed, slightly louder than necessary. His volume seemed to pain the Princess, whose eyes widened perceptively. Han cleared his throat and tried again, voice barely above a whisper. "Why Luke?"

He frowned, trying to quickly slide the mental puzzle pieces together. It had been three months since the Alliance had found out about the bounty on Luke's head. The Empire had found out very quickly the name of the pilot who had fired the shot that destroyed the Death Star and had issued a bounty for the pilot's capture. That news alone wouldn't have been so surprising, but the bounty was for alive only, and the sum was astronomical-1 billion credits, more than the bounty on Mon Mothma, Leia, Cracken, and Rieekan combined.

"The Empire must really have its panties in a bunch about the Death Star and this price on Luke's head-"

"No Han, it's worse than that." Leia's features were pale. Solo could see the dark half-moons under her eyes. She was normally demanding and unflappable under fire. Something had obviously really rattled her. "This is classified. Not a single person outside High Command knows about this. Not even Luke. I could be court-martialed for telling you this. So listen very carefully."

Solo sat up a little straighter, more curious than alarmed. The doings of the Alliance concerned him only as far as the pay kept coming. He reminded himself that he cared only on a professional level. "Go ahead," he nodded.

"The communique between Vader and Palpatine refer twice to the progress on the capture of Luke Skywalker. Then there is a reference to Vader's 'son'.

Solo frowned. _Vader? _"You've lost me. He has a son?"

The Princess let out a short, humorless laugh, her expression unchanging. "Apparently. Though this is the first any of us have heard of it."

"And this has what to do with Luke?"

She pursed her lips. "The Emperor refers to the irony of Vader's son destroying the Death Star." Leia watched him expectantly, waiting for her words to sink it.

It didn't take long.

A wave of cold washed over Solo. "You mean _Luke_-"

"Is being referred to in a secret communique as Vader's son. Yes."

There had to be some sort of mistake. Some sort of setup. Did Old Yellow Eyes think he could drop information to the Alliance and they would believe whatever he fed them? There was no possible way Luke Skywalker, orphan farmboy from a backwater planet and Jedi wannabe who got a lucky shot at the Death Star, was the son of the most notorious villain in the galaxy. No possible way.

"But Luke's father is dead," he argued, wanting to speak to the logic, wanting to laugh at the creased expression on the Princess' face and the ludicrousness of the situation. "He's an orphan, a nobody."

"That's what he's told us, anyway," Leia interjected. "But he's not a nobody anymore. He's wanted by the Empire. A billion credits. Alive," she reminded him.

"Are you suggesting he's been lying all this time?" Han arched his eyebrows at her. Luke and the Princess were inseparable. She, of all people, ought to give him the benefit of the doubt. "That he's not who he told us he is?"

"No," she said firmly. "I am suggesting that he doesn't know anything about this."

Solo gained his feet, paced the meter-long space between the table and the corridor. "This is unbelievable," he said, running his hand through his hair. "How can you take something like this-something so ridiculous-at face value? How do you know that the Emperor isn't playing with you? He's dropping private messages and watching the fireworks display afterwards. How could Luke be Vader's son?"

"Keep your voice down!" Leia hissed at him. She splayed her fingers over the tabletop. "It makes sense, actually." Her voice was calm now, logical. "Of course, we still don't have all the information, but first there is the matter of Luke having Jedi powers, the same as Vader. Then, with a little digging, we found the name of Anakin Skywalker, Luke's father, who apparently died suspiciously about the time Vader appeared on the scene. Of course, none of that is actual proof, but short of getting a DNA test-"

"Which isn't likely," Solo snorted, regaining his seat.

"We can't know one-hundred percent that it is true." Her eyes met his, determined now. "Believe it or not, this isn't even the reason I'm telling you all of this."

Solo arched his eyebrows. "There's more?"

"Yes." Her voice dropped to its serious-business volume again. "High Command has lost its collective head over this. They realize that not only is Luke a target, but by harboring him, they risk endangering the entire Alliance.

"Furthermore," she continued just as Solo was about to speak, "Some members of Command have decided that Luke is actually a threat that needs to be dealt with."

Solo swallowed. "Dealt with?" he repeated. "Twelve months ago he saved all of them with the luckiest shot in the universe. What do you mean 'dealt with'?"

Her expression tightened. "Just that. His presence here now endangers everyone around him. They don't know for sure he is who he says he is and if he can be trusted. And finally, we're suddenly talking about the off-spring of Vader. Now they see either using Luke as a bargaining chip to get the Empire to comply to our wishes or as an embryonic version of the galaxy's most-feared villain who should be… 'dealt with'... before Vader can get to him first." She bit her lip. "Or both."

Han stared at her, stunned. In a moment, Luke's only friends and allies had just turned into his assassins.

"Has it occurred to them that their best chance against Vader may be for them to actually have the skills of a Jedi at their disposal?" Solo demanded. Never mind that he really didn't for a minute believe in any of that Force voodoo Luke and the old man Kenobi spouted.

"Yes," Leia sighed. "Rieekan and I both argued that point. But it didn't do any good."

"And that alienating their last Jedi could seriously backfire on them?"

"That point was made as well."

"That Luke-with his fatherless orphan complex-would not be able to resist the pull of being with his just-discovered father, no matter if that father is a war criminal. What would the Alliance do then?"

Leia's face paled. "Of course the Alliance has no intention of letting that happen."

"Really?" Solo shot back. "How do they intend to stop him?"

"By any means necessary."

"You mean…" Solo felt the blood drain from his face. Disgust curled in his stomach, followed by a heavy sense of dread as he realized what Leia was saying.

"The Alliance would execute their hero because of whose son he is?"

Leia's expression was set in stone. "They would make it look like an accident, most likely."

Solo tightened his hand into a fist. "And you're just going to let that happen-"

"I have no intention of _letting_ that happen," Leia raised her own voice in spite of her previous warnings. "That's why I'm here talking to you. Han, can I trust you to help Luke?"

"What do you think?" Solo shot back testily. "Of course I would help the kid if I could. But what kind of magic do you think I'm capable of?"

"You can leave," Leia urged him. "Luke gets back this evening from his mission with Rogue Squadron. You and I can intercept him first, get him on the _Falcon_ and you can leave tonight."

"You'll stay here?" Han queried. Sudden visions of the Princess facing a military tribunal flitted through his head. _Why should you care so much, Solo?_ An inner voice demanded. _You're still just here for hire._

"My strengths lie here," she insisted. "I can reason with them, talk Mon Mothma down. They can't deal with me too harshly. I control the funds from the Royal House of Alderaan. My financial backing is too significant for the Alliance to lose and they know it."

Han was skeptical, but let it drop. "So what do I do with the kid? Just fly around and hope nobody recognizes a ship and its pilot wanted by Jabba, or a farmkid wanted by both the Empire _and_ the Alliance?"

"I can provide you with funds…"

"I'd expect nothing less, Princess," Han shot back cooly. "But I think you overestimate how big the galaxy actually is."

"Do you have a better idea?" She retorted. "There are plenty of backwater planets where you can lie low for a bit."

That list of backwater planets was going through his mind now and it was shorter than Han wanted to admit. What was he doing being so stupid? He should have left the Rebels months ago to pay off Jabba. Only someone with a death wish would take this job.

"You know Luke's not going to come quietly," he said instead. "He's going to fall apart over this 'father' business, want to know more, open his big yap, want to defend himself to High Command, and get himself thrown in the brig before bedtime."

"Than we don't tell him," Leia replied. "The less he knows right now, the better."

It turned out to be kind of a trick to get Luke where they wanted him.

The squadron flew in to the hangar bay around sunset. If Han hadn't been looking for them, he might have missed the MPs grouped casually near one end of the hangar, unobtrusive in their wait for Rogue Squadron to return, with their pale blue uniforms and standard-issue blasters. Leia stood off to one side, deliberately not too near Han, watching carefully for Luke's X-wing. Chewie was in the _Falcon _in the neighboring hangar, doing his own casual pre-flight systems check, hopefully not calling any attention to himself or the ship.

The trick would be to get Luke away from the MPs without causing any suspicion.

Solo eyed the third snub fighter to the left as it docked and settled down to the floor of the bay. It was immediately surrounded by fuel droids and mech techs pushing a ladder to the side of the cockpit. The canopy rose steadily to reveal a helmeted pilot in an orange jumpsuit. The pilot removed his helmet and shook his tousled hair free, flashed a tired smile to one of the techs, and started down the ladder.

Leia set forward. In the distance, Solo could see the MPs making their move too. They would want to avoid making a scene, Han knew. In fact, he was counting on it.

The princess greeted Luke at the bottom of the ladder with a careful hug. She was speaking to him while Luke glanced over to make sure Artoo made it to the ground without mishap. Han stepped forward to greet his friend.

"Hey kid," he lifted a hand in a casual wave. "Long trip?"

Luke nodded tiredly. "Hey Han." He looked back to the Princess. "Leia tells me you're leaving tonight?"

"'Fraid so," Han pursed his lips. Out of the corner of his eye, the lead MP stepped into their circle.

"I didn't know. How long?" Luke's expression looked irritated. Han decided this had to do with the "you're abandoning the Alliance" discussion Luke liked to have with him every so often.

"Few weeks probably." Han studiously ignored the MP, a short stocky man with straw-colored hair, and jammed his hands in his pockets.

There was a pause until Luke couldn't help but follow with, "But you're coming back, right?"

_Maybe not._

"Planning on it," Han grunted, turning now to acknowledge the MP. "Looks like you have a whole bunch of friends waiting to get your autograph." He stepped back, nodding to the shorter man.

Luke looked in askance to the MP, eyebrows raised. "Yes?" he asked, surprised. "Is something wrong?"

"Captain Marl Trebarik," the man introduced himself. "No trouble sir. But if you will follow me, we need to proceed to the debriefing and a few questions."

Luke frowned. "I usually stay with my squadron and we debrief with…."

"Change in orders sir," Trebarik clipped. "If you will follow me…?"

Leia's dark eyes met Han's. It was showtime. "Well, kid, this is goodbye for a few weeks. Chewie wanted to say bye himself, but he's on the _Falcon_, and it looks like you're a little bit busy here, so…"

The bait worked. Luke set his helmet on the middle rung of the ladder, turned back to Trebarik. "I….will you excuse me for a minute? I'm happy to come with you, but I need to say goodbye to

Chewie."

"Sir," Trebarik intoned in his low voice. "I have my orders to have you report immediately."

Luke nodded amiably, but started walking toward Han. "I understand you're just doing your job, Captain. This will only take a few minutes." Luke started forward.

With little other choice if he didn't want to cause a scene, the MP followed, scowling. Luke, who had caught up with Solo, unzipping his flightsuit to the waist and knotting the sleeves, as was habit of all the pilots, did not miss that two more MPs fell in line behind him. "What's going on?" He murmured to Han.

Solo shrugged. "They seem kind of jumpy tonight, don't they?"

The young man regarded Solo for a minute before dropping his gaze to the floor. Maybe he detected that Han also seemed unusually jumpy.

Han's ears caught the familiar pre-flight whine of the engines before he was in sight of the _Falcon_. "Chewie?" He called as they approached the ramp. The trick was going to be to get Luke _on_ board the ship, while keeping Trebarik and his men _off,_ without setting off anyone's suspicions.

He turned to the MP. "Come on board. Wookiees aren't usually too aggressive, unless they get caught by surprise, right Luke?" The young man was already headed up the ramp, laughing at that old joke.

"Then they might tear your arms off!"

"On second thought," Han added, seeing Trebarik's hesitation. "Let me just warn him first that you're coming. Princess?"

Leia folded her arms across her chest. "I'll stay right here, thanks." He gave her a half-nod/half-salute that they both knew was _goodbye/good luck/don't get yourself killed, _and turned a sheepish look toward Trebarik. "Give me just a minute to talk the Wook down, Captain." He started up the ramp, noticing the conflicting emotions on the man's face-the desire to follow orders with the desire for self-preservation.

Leia provided the remaining distraction, turning the Grateful-Princess routine on the MP just long enough to engage the man in conversation and let Han round the corner at the top of the ramp, out of sight.

He sprang into action, slapping the ramp controls and bolted down the corridor to the cockpit. "Chewie, now!" He bellowed.

A roar from the cockpit in acknowledgement, the distant hiss of thrusters and the ship lifted. There were shouts from the hangar bay and the sound of a klaxon, immediately cut short as the ramp sealed. Midway to the cockpit, the second obstacle of the day stood, eyes wide with alarm, one hand grasping a hand-hold along the bulkhead, the other hand resting warily on his….lightsaber? Did Luke think he was about to dispense justice with that thing? "Han!" His voice was sharp. "What are you two doing? You haven't received clearance yet!"

"Out of my way, kid." Solo pushed past him roughly, dropped into the pilot's seat. Below the viewport, the MPs were scrambling like pittins to get out of the way, the strobe flash of the alarm lighting a trail behind his closed lids as he blinked. _Here goes nothing._ "Chewie, punch it before they seal off the bay!" Already he could see the large blast doors making their slow descent from the top of the hangar.

"Han!" Luke's voice rose in pitch as the young man scrambled to avoid being thrown against the nearest bulkhead and get purchase on the passenger seat behind. "What are you doing?! Have you lost your mind?"

"Sit down and shut up!" Solo bellowed, yanking the throttle up. The _Falcon _shot past the bay doors with meters to spare, out past the windswept wasteland of Melsinor VIII, the Alliance's latest excuse for a base. Thanks to this stunt, he imagined the Rebels would pull out within the week. Leia was about to find herself in very hot water. "Buckle up if you don't want your brains splattered all over the cockpit!"

The com crackled to life. "_Millennium Falcon,"_ an alarmed voice intoned. "You are not authorized to leave the base. Return to bay seven immediately or be fired upon."

With a yelp, Luke made a dive for the com. "Base Two, this is Commander Lu-"

Solo slapped the com off and shoved Luke out of the way. "No one touches my ship but me, kid! Sit down!"

"Are you crazy?" Luke cried again. "They're going to fire on us!"

As if on cue, a green flash shot out from one of the mounted gun turrets. Then another one that somehow scored an indirect hit, jolting its passengers.

"Chewie, shields!" Han snapped. They were gunning for deep-space now. The navicomp already had their calculations for their jump. If they could just avoid the watchdog tugboats he knew waited on the horizon line, as well as the squad of B-wings swarming like insects around it.

Chewie let out a roar. Luke, blast him, was determined to be a pain in the neck. He dove for the com again. "Base Two, this is-"

He didn't get to finish that sentence. Han had grasped the controls with his left hand, palmed his blaster with his right, just as Luke had bolted from his chair. The blue stun beam collapsed the young man over the console before he could finish identifying himself. Luke slid in a sigh of neoprene flight suit to the floor, lying awkwardly in unconsciousness between the pilot and co-pilot's seats.

Han grimaced. This wasn't exactly how he had planned for this to go down. Chewie growled a protest.

"Hey, it's not my fault he wouldn't shut up!" Han snapped, his eyes on the console. There were two B-wings coming up behind. "Give all power to the rear shields. I don't want to have to shoot our way out." The navicomp indicated one minute until hyperspace.

"_Millennium Falcon," _cackled the com again. Han slapped it off. In the distance the edge of Melsinor's star was peeking out from behind the planet. Past it was the deep cold of space. Clear skies. The B-wings were always slow-nothing to worry about.

The navicomputer beeped, the light flashed green.

"Punch it!" Han shouted. Chewie pulled back on the hyperspace levers and the stars streaked blue.

They were out.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you for all your kind reviews! As usual, I don't own anything. Feedback is always welcome. -T

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"Luke."

There was a shimmering white, flat landscape, a painfully blue sky and a lone figure in the distance, indistinct.

Luke was standing, still dressed in his orange flight suit, his lightsaber clipped to his side, the surface under his boots crystalline. The figure, he could make out now, was Obi-wan Kenobi.

"Ben?" He squinted against the diffuse light.

"Luke, you must go to the Dagobah system to complete your Jedi training." Ben was close now, life-size, somewhat translucent.

"Dagobah system?" He echoed, confused. His head hurt. "Why? What's there?"

"Master Yoda will help prepare you to face Darth Vader."

Vader? Luke's idea had been to stay as far away from the dark Lord as possible. The questions burned through him. "Why do I need to face him? Where is the Dagobah system? How do I get there? Why can I see you-you're dead!"

Ben seemed to shimmer, a mirage against the white sand. He smiled benignly and dissipated into the distance.

"Ben!" Luke cried, a sudden pang of grief a kick in the solar plexus. "Don't go!"

There seemed to be five Sandpeople pounding Gaffe sticks inside his skull. And a very bright blue light, burning away the crystalline desert scene.

Luke groaned, screwing his eyes shut against the blinding headache.

"Glad to see you're awake, kid." It was Han's voice.

He groaned again, lifting a leaden hand to his forehead. His arm refused to obey the command. "Turn off the light."

"Sorry to have to do that to you, but you were kind of in the way of the getaway." There was a click and the light behind his eyelids darkened.

Luke opened his eyes a crack. Han was sitting next to him, perched on a crate, hand extended with a glass of water. "Here."

This time his hand obeyed his command to grasp the bulb of water. "What happened?" He croaked. He struggled to tilt his head up enough to sip some water.

"You don't remember?" Solo's voice sounded almost hopeful.

Luke grimaced as recollection flooded in on him, as well as a renewed throbbing of the headache. He eyed the smuggler, feeling thoroughly confused. "I remember," he mumbled. "But maybe you can tell me what's going on."

He tested his ability to sit up, fought back a wave of nausea. "What the heck were you doing? Why did you take off without clearance? Why did you…" The Gaffe sticks intensified in his skull and he pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. "...stun me?"

He must have looked green because Han, with an odd look in his eyes urged him back down. "Take it easy, kid. I can explain everything." Solo chewed his lip. "About that stun...sorry about that."

Luke sank back to the narrow bunk he was lying on. "Where are we?"

"Um…" Han fiddled with something in his hand. "Roughly halfway between the Melsinor system and Terrenia."

Luke arched both eyebrows. "And what is on Terrenia that called for blasting out of the base like that?" He half propped himself to a sitting position, remembering the turbocannon fire, the angry voice over the com. "How are we going to explain this when we get back? I was supposed to report to a debriefing about my mission. Do you realize how bad this will look to High Command?"

"Explain?" Now Han looked dismissive, brushing aside Luke's concerns. "We're not going to explain anything, kid. We're on an extended trip. Things will blow over by the time we get back."

Now Luke did sit up. "_Extended trip?"_ He repeated incredulously. "That's called desertion! They'll have my head. I'll be-"

Han looked almost bored. "Yeah, kid. Court Martialed. You and half of everybody else." He leveled a finger at the younger man and stood, towering over Luke. "Before you get all worked up, just take a deep breath, okay? This whole trip was the Princess's idea. She's funding it. Her head's on the chopping block too. I'll explain things eventually...somehow." Suddenly the smuggler looked lost in his own thoughts, as though he were staring straight through Luke. "Just...come on. Chewie's got something cooking in the galley." His lip twitched. "If you're hungry."

Luke frowned. Han seemed uncharacteristically melancholy. There was a bleakness to his expression that Luke had never seen before. What was going on? "See, now I'm even more confused," he called after the Correllian's retreating back. "Why don't you tell me what's going on right now?" When Solo didn't answer or turn back, he sighed, feeling suddenly very tired and old somehow. A strange feeling settled into the pit of his stomach and stayed there. Was it the Force telling him something? He had too little experience to know for sure. And had that been a Force vision or simply a dream about Obi-wan Kenobi?

_Dagobah system. _He considered. He'd never heard of such a place, but that didn't necessarily mean it did not exist. Or Yoda for that matter, whoever that was. He could search the star charts in the cockpit for coordinates later. Or maybe it had simply been a dream-a product of an overactive imagination and too little sleep the past few weeks.

Was he going crazy? Han would probably say yes.

With a sigh, Luke swung his feet to the floor. The small cabin grayed out for a moment before his vision cleared and he could hear Chewie's angry bark from the galley. He still couldn't understand the Wookiee, though body language went a long way toward communication.

"I just wanted a taste!" Han's voice snapped. "Don't get so territorial." In a lower voice, he added, "Dish some for the kid. I think he's coming."

"_He _is coming," Luke confirmed, shuffling into the galley, the headache from the stun settling into a localized place in the back of his skull. "But," a faint aroma reached him. He didn't know Chewie could cook. He realized it had been a long time since his last actual meal in the mess hall. "I'll just have a little." Until his stomach settled.

"Here kid, eat up," Han shoved a steaming plate in front of him as Luke sank down into the cracked plastene seat. "You look like you're wasting away under that flight suit. Alliance needs to feed you more."

"Ration shortage," Luke mumbled. "They don't have more." He looked down, realizing he _was_ still in his flight suit and fatigues, that he could really go for a shower about now, except… "I didn't bring anything on this 'extended mission' of ours."

The Correlian spoke around a mouthful of food. "Oh, the Princess packed a bag for you. It's next to the bunk."

Luke's face heated at the thought of Princess Leia rifling through his underwear drawer. He took a careful bite of stew and managed an "Oh."

The stew was surprisingly good. He ate it all, plus another bowl full. Finally, he sat back, feeling a comfortable full feeling he had to admit he'd rarely experienced since joining the Alliance a year ago. Something about even that sensation reminded him of home and meals Aunt Beru used to make, which followed with a familiar ache of missing them.

"So," he began, looking from Han to Chewie. "Why Terrenia? What's so important there?"

Han was fiddling with something, an action Luke had learned over the past year that meant the smuggler was about to give an evasive answer. "We're going to pick up a shipment of supplies."

Suspicion creeped into Luke's gut. "What supplies?" He pressed. "The Alliance doesn't have a supplier on Terrenia."

"Neither does the Empire," Han snapped. "That's the point."

"Terrenia is ruled by crime syndicates," Luke went on. "It's a Hutt world. Jabba's looking for you. Why are we going there?"

Han looked as though he was tired of justifying himself. "I have contacts I can trust there, okay?"

A dubious growl from Chewie did less than reassure Luke. He glanced from Han to Chewie again.

"Why not use one of the Alliance suppliers? DuTeil is less that two light-years from Terrenia."

"Orders from the Princess," Solo said firmly. "We are not to go near any Alliance-friendly planets."

Luke clenched his fist under the table, his nails digging into his palm. "Why? You have to tell me what's going on, Han. I'm not a child. You can tell me what's happening here."

Han stood up to leave. "Later, kid."

Luke followed. Aunt Beru used to tell him he was nothing if not persistent. And here he was, using his powers of tenacity to annoy Han into telling him what was going on. "How do I know that Leia really gave you these instructions? _I'm_ not on the run from the Alliance! How do I know you're not in this for yourself somehow?" He was following the Correlian's retreating back down the corridor to the cockpit. "How do I know I can trust you?"

"Trust me?!" Han whirled on him, face angry, pointing with that accusing finger again. "If I were in this for myself, I'd be seven parsecs away from here, looking out for my own hide instead of babysitting a kid with a billion-credit price on his head at the behest of a bossy, entitled princess. _Don't_ ever question if you can trust me again, or you are on your _own. _And you'll have my _blessing!" _The smuggler spun back down the corridor. "I'll give you a hundred to one odds you don't last the week with both the Alliance and the Imps breathing down your neck!" The cockpit door hissed shut behind him.

Luke stopped short, stared expressionless at the closed door for a moment.

_Okay._

He was not going to get to the bottom of this until Han cooled off a bit. He rubbed at the ache at the back of his head. What did Han mean that the Alliance was breathing down his neck?

He considered the closed door a long moment before turning back down the corridor, to the bunkroom. If he was not so worn out, he might have pestered Solo further. But doing so would only further anger the smuggler, he knew. It had been about seventy-two standard hours on his mission with the Rogues, plus this little trip. He may as well catch that shower while he had a chance. He rubbed his hand over his eyes. Perhaps there was a mole in the Alliance, someone who'd wanted to cash in on that billion-credit bounty? Leia may have felt like she was protecting Luke in sending him away. He grimaced. He could take care of himself, though maybe the Princess didn't think so.

Chewie _wuffed _softly as he passed by the galley again. Luke looked up. "Hey." He glanced back the way he had come. "I guess I'll just let him cool off for a while."

The Wookie growled softly. _Good idea._

Luke realized he'd just learned one thing: don't question where Han's loyalties lie. No matter what the Correlian said, he was in it for more than just the money. That blow-up was Solo's way of saying he cared.

Luke supposed he should feel happy that one person he considered a friend, prickly though he was sometimes, reciprocated. Instead, he just felt tired, grimy, irritable, and completely baffled by the day's events. He sighed and went to find that bag Leia had supposedly packed for him.

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He gave Han several hours to cool off, and then headed to the cockpit himself, half-expecting his friend to still be there. The cockpit was empty, the mottled electric blue of hyperspace flickering light across the console.

Hesitantly, Luke settled into the co-pilot's seat and keyed into the computer the star charts of the Known Regions, then the Outer Rim. No planet under the name of _Dagobah_ existed in the database. He checked twice, just to be sure.

Then he left the cockpit as silent as he'd come, heading off to the bunkroom to catch some sleep.

When he finally settled into an uneasy doze, his dreams were of a swampy bog, ethereal mist, and the steady, ominous breathing of Darth Vader.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for the reviews! Enjoy!

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"Hey kid, we're coming out of light-speed in twenty minutes." Solo poked his head into the darkened cabin, jolting Luke out of his, finally, dreamless sleep. "Get up to the cockpit in case we see some action."

Luke rubbed bleary eyes, sat up. He'd been asleep for probably eight hours, but he still felt like he could sleep for twenty. "Be right there," he mumbled.

Gingerly he sat up, straightened his tunic, fastened his father's lightsaber to his belt, and put on his boots.

Chewie wasn't in the cockpit, so Luke sat down in the co-pilot's seat again, which earned him a frown from Solo, but the pilot didn't order Luke to leave.

Luke studied the readouts in front of him, noted the time remaining in hyperspace. In his opinion, which clearly had no weight around here, going to Terrenia was a stupid thing to do. Really stupid.

"I, uh," he cleared his throat, "was thinking about what you said-the Alliance 'breathing down my neck'?"

Solo grunted, not looking up from the navicomputer.

"Is there someone in the Alliance, a mole, maybe? Someone looking to cash in that bounty? Is that why the Princess wanted me away from there?"

Solo glanced up, an odd expression in his eyes. Luke tried carefully to read his friend with the Force. He got the sense of turbulent emotion, but wasn't sure if that same sense of sadness he had seen in the Correlian's eyes earlier was accurate or simply super-imposed by Luke's own feelings. There was so much he didn't know, might never know about using the Force. "Something like that, kid," Solo allowed.

"Well, I am capable of looking out for myself," Luke defended. "Running away, putting ourselves in greater danger," he nodded to the viewport, "seems like a really bad idea. Why don't we spend our energies trying to find the mole instead?"

The beeping of the proximity alarm turned Solo's attention back to the console. "It's a bit more complicated than that," the smuggler grunted.

Luke opened his mouth to further make his case, but Solo was already concentrating on the task at hand.

Han leaned toward the com. "Standing by, Chewie?" There was a tinny growl over the speaker. Solo nodded curtly. "Then hang on, here we go." His head snapped toward Luke. "Strap in, kid, this could get rough."

Luke did not need to be told twice. He secured the oversized restraints as best he could, as Han grasped the hyperspace levers, pushed them forward. Mottled blue became streaks of stars, which became pinpoints of light, framing a small, brownish, cloud-shrouded planet.

"Here we are." Solo's voice was neutral, guarded. Directly in front of them hovered a disc-shaped ship-or was it a space station?- small insect-like runner ships swarming in and out. "Nothing's changed."

The com crackled to life. "Unidentified ship," a meaty voice filled the cockpit. "Transmit your ID immediately or prepare to be fired upon."

Luke felt anxiety worm its way through his gut, but managed to keep his mouth shut and merely raise his eyebrows at Han.

Solo was smiling. "Tell Tam, that's no way to treat an old friend, especially one who saved his neck back on Fodor…. Oh, three years ago?"

There was silence. Solo chewed his lip, toggled the com. "Be ready," he told Luke and Chewie unnecessarily. "It's entirely possible he doesn't care to remember Fodor. Or that Tam doesn't run this outfit anymore."

The com came to life again, a different voice this time, hoarse and scratchy. "Solo, s'that you? What do want?"

"Tam!" The smuggler grinned at the com, false bravado filling his features. "Just calling in a favor, pal. A place to land and a couple month's worth of supplies. I've got credits to burn."

_A couple months? _Luke frowned at Han, that sinking feeling twisting his stomach again.

"You're a very stupid man for coming to Terrenia at all," Tam remarked. "You have a death wish, hmm?" Solo opened his mouth to respond, but apparently Tam wasn't looking for an answer to the question. A swarm of the small ships was leaving the disc-like station and approaching the _Falcon. _"But you want to land? I'll send you safe passage, friend, and we'll call it even. Landing pad seventy-two."

Solo's cocky grin returned as he switched off the com and crowed to Luke, "See? I told ya, no big deal."

"Sure," Luke muttered. "No big deal." He shook his head. "A couple _months_ of supplies, Han?"

Solo winked at the younger man and snapped his fingers. "Right, kid. Extended mission, remember?"

"_How _extended?" Luke demanded. "The Alliance needs us. We can't be gone this long, not when things are in such dire straights as it is. This is silly."

The smuggler's expression darkened. "Turns out they don't need you as much as you would like to think, kid."

Luke sat forward, feeling agitated again. "_What_ are you talking about? What did you and Leia discuss that you just can't tell me about?"

Han turned his full attention back to the viewport, avoiding. "You know what, Luke? I'll tell you everything after we land, get our shipment and get back into hyperspace, okay? In the meantime, shut up about it, stop asking questions, and find us some camouflage."

Luke shook his head, mouth open to snap back some retort when the last of Han's words caught up to him. "Some what?" Was it one of Han's diversionary tactics to change the subject mid-sentence?

"Camo," Solo repeated, hooking his thumb to the back of the cockpit. "Chewie's going to stay with the ship, and you and I are going to avoid being recognized while we pick up the shipment. There are some cloaks in that utility closet. I think."

Luke sighed, stood. "Fine. We are going to have this conversation the moment we get back on the ship."

"And in hyperspace."

"In hyperspace. Whatever," he dismissed. "I'm holding you to it." He managed to pull the hatch open, and rummaged through the clutter. After a moment, he found what could pass as parkas, with hoods, and pulled them out. "_This_ is camouflage?"

Solo dismissed Luke's skeptical look. "Combined with a scarf or something to cover most of our faces, I think it'll be okay."

With another dubious look toward the gear, Luke tossed it to Han. "Whatever you say."

"And you're going to have to lose the lightsaber, kid," Solo told him, dropping his poncho to the floor next to him, eyes focused on the viewport and the cloud swirl over the brown planet. "That's going to get you recognized faster than you can say Hutt's Paradise."

Luke's hand closed protectively over the hilt of his father's weapon. He never went anywhere without his lightsaber and did not intend to do so now, especially not knowing what kind of danger they were walking into. "It will be hidden under the parka," He promised Han. "No one will see it."

"Fine," Solo grunted. "Just keep it out of sight. Okay, hold on, we're coming into the atmosphere. Might get bumpy."

Luke took his seat again, pulled the parka over his head. It smelled of wet wookiee. The _Falcon_ became enveloped in milky cloud cover as they made their descent. He gazed out into the opaque cotton, lost in thought momentarily. A flash of memory came to him. Did he dream it? _Descending in a ship, no visibility through the cloud cover, Han's voice _I've lost all instruments_! Chewie's alarmed roar, and Luke, his heart in his throat, hands gripping two fistfuls of crash webbing._

"Nice and easy," muttered Han in a low, calm voice, which brought Luke around to the present, the strange shred of not-memory slipping away. They flew closer to the surface, the small escort ships peeling off and heading out again to deep space. The clouds were dark and low. "They get acid rain here," Han was saying. "From all the pollution. Nasty stuff. Can't tell if it's raining right now or not."

As if in response, a few splatters of liquid struck the surface of the viewport. Solo cursed. "Now it's going to go messing up my ship."

A roar from Chewie over the com must have meant roughly the same thing, for Han snapped "I know, pal," in a curt tone. "Nothing we can do about it!"

The smuggler brought the ship through the poisoned atmosphere to the surface of the planet. The scene in front of Luke was chaotic. Mottled buildings, ships, shanties, spaceports. It all appeared a shambles in front of him, one structure blending into the other, old, rundown, hobbled together. He had no idea how Han appeared to know exactly where he was going, but the smuggler deftly maneuvered the ship through what Luke belatedly realized was the yawing mouth of a wide hanger, sheltered from the acid rain by a corrugated roof, and set down gently on the stained, pocked duracrete surface.

"Chewie's going to stay with the ship," he muttered, scanning his instruments as he shut things down. "I don't think this should take long. You ready?"

Luke was. The cloak dwarfed him well enough in its folds of fabric. He didn't really need anything besides its floppy cowl to hide his face. Of course, that also meant that it was a little difficult to _see_. "Ready," he replied, feeling the familiar weight of his lightsaber against his leg under the cloak. Hopefully he wouldn't need it, but its presence was reassuring, nonetheless.

He followed Solo through the corridor and down the ramp. Chewie met them at the ramp controls, barking something insistent to the smuggler. Han waved his hand again, dismissively, apparently unconcerned.

"What did he say?" Luke asked, frowning. Chewie slapped the controls, lowering the ramp. Neither of them answered him. Luke thought, not for the first time, how it would be useful for him to learn Shyriiwook, but that thought was cut short as he was hit with a blast of stench - sulfur, and garbage, and some other smells he could not identify, but which brought his hand to cover his nose and mouth. "Good Stars, what is that smell?"

Solo grunted again. "You probably really don't want to know, kid. Whatever it is, breathing it in will probably take a year or two off your life."

Luke coughed as the overpowering stench caught in his throat.

"Easy now, don't give us away so easily." Solo muttered. "You don't need the whole planet to know you're fresh off a backwater planet and green as a tree."

Luke tried to catch his breath. His eyes were burning. He hacked out another cough, and swallowed hard, _willing _it away. "Sorry," he mumbled, his face heating at Solo's barb.

But the smuggler was already turning to the task at hand, sauntering down the ramp. Luke hurried to follow, carefully clearing his throat and pulling the side of the hood to his face, infinitely preferring the smell of wet wookiee to whatever smell wafted through the hangar like a thick soup of coolant chemicals and raw sewage.

Afraid he'd cough if he spoke, Luke kept his silence and followed Solo, who seemed to know exactly where he was going. They weaved through a maze of ramps, corridors, walkways, and stairs. They passed a variety of interesting beings, none of whom spared them so much as a glance.

Han's choice of disguise turned out to be useful in more than one way, when they followed the path to an open-air street, with its light drizzle of acid rain. Luke pulled his exposed hands into the too-long sleeves and kept his head down, eyes on the ground.

Presently, they came to an unremarkable building, a sort of dilapidated warehouse that had clearly seen better days. Solo pushed open the door, to the darkened interior. Luke, unable to make out anything in the gloom, tensed as he followed, his hand brushing the hilt of the lightsaber still hidden under his cloak.

A click of a blaster safety and they both froze. Luke's heart was thudding in his ears.

"Solo?" It was the same gravelly voice from the com. Tam, Luke remembered. A large man, taller than both of them, gray hair a dishevelled popcorn halo of frizz, stepped out of the gloom, his eyebrows like small furry morts over beady black eyes. Luke wondered momentarily if this supposed "friend" of Han's might just try to rob them at gunpoint instead, favors be damned. His hand tightened in the lightsaber hilt.

"It's me," Han answered. "Call off your lackeys."

Suddenly the room flooded with harsh, white light, searing Luke's eyes. As soon as he adjusted to the light, he realized there were four more beefy thugs on either side of Tam, brandishing heavy carbines, their faces a dark sneer of contempt.

Tam lowered his blaster, motioned for his guards to do the same. He moved toward Han in a gesture of camaraderie, clapping him on the shoulder as Solo lowered the hood of his cloak. "Good to see you, my friend."

Han's expression was a guarded smile. "Looks like the galaxy has been treating you well," he remarked approvingly, gesturing to the warehouse surrounding them.

A hearty chuckle from Tam. "I can't complain, can I? Come with me." He gestured for them to follow.

Luke removed his hood and fell in line with Han, peripherally aware that the heavy-set guards took up formation behind them. They walked to the far end of the warehouse, several large durasteel boxes parked on the rough floor.

Tam gestured. "I believe this will be about what you need." He dropped the controller into Solo's hand. "Roughly three months supplies-food, medical equipment, blankets…" he waved his hand dismissively.

Solo nodded and dug some credit chips from his pocket. "How much?"

"Two thousand."

Solo balked. "Two thousand?" he repeated, his brow creasing. "What happened to calling in favors for an old friend? Twelve hundred."

"You _are_ calling in favors for an old friend," Tam growled. "You landed, you got supplies, and now you are going to be able to leave, unmolested, despite that price on your head that could leave me a very rich man, hmmm?" Those eyebrows shot up. "Seventeen hundred. That's my final offer."

Han grinned again, all false bravado again. "Pleasure doing business with you," he crooned, dropping the credit chip into Tam's open hand.

As if on cue, the bodyguards fanned out, weapons holstered. Solo toggled the controls to the grav cart, checked to make sure both crates were secured. "Come on kid, let's go," he muttered to Luke, the first he'd spoken to him since they left the ship, and flicked the controls of the remote. With a faint whine, the repulsor sled hummed forward. Solo went in front and Luke dropped again to the rear, smothering another cough as he did so.

"Pleasure doing business with you," Han called without turning.

"Do your best to stay alive," Tam replied dryly.

Luke flicked his hood over his head again as they stepped again out into the poisoned drizzle, noting the singed holes the rain had already left in the sleeves of the cloak. They were walking a little slower this time to accommodate the grav sled.

It was when they had returned again to the covered walkway that a growing sense of unease wormed its way into the pit of Luke's stomach. He pulled back the hood, glanced around them to see if anything was amiss. They were approaching an isolated stairway, but no one was in sight. Nothing seemed wrong that he could see. They began to make their way down the stairs, the servos of the repulsor sled whining in protest to the change in angle under the weight of the load.

Luke was halfway down the stairs when two figures stepped into view, blasters raised. Luke froze. The sled froze, and, in front of him, mostly hidden under the cowl of his cloak, Han froze.

It was a Rodian, a strange-looking helmet perched on his head, and a beefy human dressed in a tattered brown tunic-one of Tam's bodyguards, Luke realized, in the part of his brain not processing the fact that they were staring down the barrels of two blasters.

"Going somewhere, Solo?" the Rodian hissed at Han. "We'd be happy to take this load off your hands."

"Hey guys," the Correllian's hands were open in front of him, even as the human relieved him of the burden of the remote. "We bought this fair and square from Tam. He's not going to be very happy with you if he finds out you robbed us on the way to our ship."

A snort of derision from the Rodian. "I do not work for Tam. We're actually more interested in how _you _can make us very, very rich."

Luke couldn't see Han's face, but he could tell Han was going for the innocent routine. "Me?" he sputtered. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't play stupid," the human snapped. "Jabba's got a price on your head so high, every hit man on this side of the galaxy is carrying around your holo." He raised his blaster, menacingly. "Dead _or_ alive."

Luke swallowed, his eyes going to the supply boxes on the grav sled. Obi-wan had told him he could use the Force to manipulate objects with his mind. The idea had seemed too fantastical at first, then too difficult. If he tried, really relaxed into the Force, could he _will_ the sled to move, even just a little bit? He choked back a cough.

"You!" The human snapped, re-angling his blaster to Luke. "Over here."

Luke started down the steps carefully, his hands also open in front of him. Now would be his chance, while blaster was not aimed point-blank at Han. His mind fumbled with the shape of the load, wondering if he could move such a heavy object, when another thought occurred to him: the remote. He shut his eyes briefly, visualizing the controls, the Force around him, vaguely aware of the Rodian snapping at him to hurry. He was down to the bottom step, close to their aimed blasters. Maybe this wouldn't work after all.

Suddenly he felt it-the switch moved-the grav sled lurched forward, and the two thugs jerked toward it in surprise. That split second was all he needed.

It seemed the world was moving in slow motion. Luke's lightsaber was in his hand, ignited before they could complete their turn and re-aim. The blasters fired simultaneously, but it seemed as though the lasers were streaking toward him in slow motion. Luke's blade caught first one crimson bolt and then another, sending them back along their trajectory, into the chest of the surprised Rodian. A burst of fire from Han's blaster barrelled into the human, who dropped to the ground, unmoving.

Luke stood frozen while Solo leaped forward to reclaim the sled's remote. "Come on, let's get out of here, before we run into any more trouble." He looked back at Luke. "You okay?"

Numbly, Luke nodded, shook himself free of the shock of what had just happened, what he had just done, reattached his lightsaber to his belt.

As if reading his mind, Solo gestured to the weapon. "I guess it's good you brought that thing. What was that-I had no idea you could fight like that!"

Luke swallowed, coughed. "Practice, I guess," he offered, though he knew it was more than that. He had no idea he could fight like that either. Something had changed.

"Yeah, well, you're good in a fight, kid," Han answered. Something in his voice sounded like begrudging admiration, mixed with...fear? That didn't seem right. Solo wasn't afraid of anything, least of all Luke and the "hokey Jedi stuff" he claimed wasn't even real. "Come on, let's get out of here."


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you everyone who has reviewed! The next few chapters are a little on the shorter side, so I will try to make up for it by posting more often. As always, I own nothing, and I hope you enjoy the story. -T

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

They made it back to the ship without mishap and, with the help of Chewie's brute strength, loaded the crates into the cargo hold.

Han was more than relieved to blast out of Terrenia. He hoped he'd never have to see this miserable planet again. As soon as they were clear of the small world's gravity well, he set the coordinates for hyperspace.

"Where to this time?" It was Luke's voice from the jump seat behind Chewie, quiet, almost accusing. He did not like being left in the dark. Not that Solo could blame him.

Solo's eyes roamed over the coordinates. "Cattairn III," he answered casually, not looking up. "Flora, fauna, forests, very few inhabitants. A real touristy spot."

Luke was silent a moment. Finally, "I see," was his only reply.

Solo ignored the pouting, waited for the signal from the navicomputer and then muttered, "hold on" as the stars streaked blue and the inertia pressed them back into their seats.

"Well Chewie," Han clapped his hands together, undoing his restraints, "let's go check out this cargo and see what we've got to work with."

He gained his feet, and both Luke and Chewie followed, down the corridor to the hold. The two crates were sitting side-by-side, unlocked.

Solo seized a nearby hydrospanner and began to pry the lid off the nearest one. With a little extra pressure, the catches popped free and he lifted the metal top out of the way.

Relief flooded him as he saw the box was filled with exactly Tam had said it contained. Package after package of dehydrated meals, an extensive medkit, four gray blankets, cleansers, detergents, macrobinoculars, fresh oxygen filters, and O2 condensers. A small part of him - okay, a large part of him - had been worried that his gamble on the supplier was misguided, that the old man would simply take his credits and send him with nothing. But even smugglers had a code of honor they adhered to. He held up a package of dehydrated bantha steak. "Who's hungry?"

Chewie wuffed a laugh, probably as relieved as Han. Now, at least, they wouldn't have to worry about supplies for a while. Solo gathered up as many of the packages as he could fit in his arms. "Let's get this stuff to the galley. I think this calls for a celebratory drink."

"Don't tell me he included a complimentary bottle of wine," Luke said in disbelief, gathering his own armful of dehydrated meals.

"Ah, no - he would have charged another thousand," Han replied. "Fortunately, the _Falcon is_ actually stocked with a good supply of alcohol."

"Priorities," Luke laughed. Solo grinned.

ooooooooooooooooooo

The food was warm and passable in taste, and within the hour, the three of them sat back in contentment, comfortable in each other's company, pleasantly full of food and the warm buzz of Corellian whiskey. All, but Luke - he hadn't touched his drink.

"You have to learn to hold your liquor, kid," Solo chided him, gesturing to the glass. "It takes practice."

Luke grimaced. Solo knew he didn't drink, not since that one time a year ago, after the destruction of the Death Star, when the pilots all got themselves knock-down drunk and Luke had given himself such a terrible hangover, he didn't leave his bunk for two days. Luke had later told him he did not like the feeling of being inebriated. Han told him he just had to try again, and he would eventually get better at it.

Luke shook his head now. "No thank you."

"Suit yourself," Solo reached for the glass, poured its contents carefully back into the bottle.

"I'm ready to have that conversation now," Luke said quietly.

Solo glanced up, confused. "The….?" Then he remembered. He stalled for time. He really didn't want to ruin a perfect dinner hour upsetting the kid. "Aww, Luke, it's late. We're all really tired - especially you. You still haven't slept off that mission to Tuloth. Let's all get a good sleep cycle, and then discuss this."

Luke's expression darkened. "Han…." His tone held a warning. Would the kid get angry? _Like Darth Vader?_ Come to think of it, he'd never actually seen Luke get really, really angry. Indignant, maybe, or self-righteous about his cause, but never really angry.

Chewie growled, pressed to his feet. He was going to make himself useful cleaning up. Solo glared at the wookiee. "Okay pal, go ahead and abandon me now, that's really great."

"Han, we're talking about this right now." Luke's expression was intense. It brought Solo back to that moment the kid was brandishing his lightsaber, having nimbly taken out that Rodian before any of them could blink, as if he was alternately far away, and reading his mind at the same time. Hand felt a shiver go down his back. Now that he knew what he knew, should he really be surprised?

"Umm, kid, you're really not going to like this," he tried again. "It's going to ruin your evening."

Luke set his jaw. "Don't keep me in the dark, Han."

Solo held the younger man's gaze a second longer, then dropped his eyes to the table. "Fine." He spread his hands. "Fine. But don't say I didn't give you fair warning."

Luke's expression didn't change. His hand was balled in a fist on the holochess table, his eyes boring holes into Han's head.

Han bumbled forward. "The Princess, and High Command….they obtained a communique intercepted from the Emperor to Darth Vader. They were able to decode it. The message was about you."

Luke's eyes widened. "Me?" he echoed in surprise. "Why me?"

"Well, thanks to the Death Star," Han quipped, trying to lighten the mood with a half-smile. "You're famous now."

"But there's more than that," Luke said quietly, not returning the smile. It wasn't a question.

Solo pursed his lips, serious again. "Right." He folded his arms, a defensive posture, he knew, but he couldn't help himself. "The communique went on about Darth Vader's son."

"His son?" Luke frowned.

"Yes." Solo bit the inside of his cheek, scanned Luke's features for any sign of awareness, or deception. There was none. Just open-faced confusion. "Did you know he had a son?"

"No…" Luke shook his head slowly, frowning at the holochess table. "What does all this….?" His eyes came up to Han now, sharp, suspicious.

"What does all this have to do with you?" Han finished for him. He laughed humorlessly, a hollow, empty sound, as he raked his fingers through his hair. "You wouldn't believe it, kid, but it has everything to do with you. The communique names _you, Luke Skywalker_, as his son."

Luke's features froze.

The sudden silence filled the room like a choking gas, breathless, expanding the space, the distance between them, the time that suddenly held still. Somehow, without moving a muscle, Luke's eyes communicated his horror at Han's words.

"No," he whispered, as if the shock of this revelation had snatched his voice, stolen his ability to move away; to have the previous moment returned to him, back before he knew his life could never be the same again. "No, that's not true."

"I take it you didn't know." Han had not exactly planned for his words to come out like that, mildly accusatory, like he was interrogating the young man across from him, instead of delivering shattering news.

"No," Luke's voice was louder this time, anger flooding his tone. And hadn't Han just wondered if Luke was even capable of getting angry? Now he regretted it.

Luke stood clumsily, knocking some utensils to the deck with a clatter. "I don't know what you take me for, or what kind of game Vader is playing here, but it's not true. I'm not his son. He isn't my father. I've never met the man. My father was a Jedi Knight. He died before I was born. Ben told me that. My father was a good man."

"Luke," Han tried to placate him, catching the kid's sleeve, to get him to stay, to calm down. "I'm not accusing you of anything. Sit down - "

"No, clearly you believe some of it, or we wouldn't be _here_, running away from the Alliance." Luke was nearly shouting now, pointing an accusing finger at Solo. "Where are we going? Somewhere I can't endanger anyone - since everyone thinks I'm the next Vader?"

"Kid, no one thinks that," Solo tried again. But Luke wasn't listening. He was leaving. "Luke - there's more to the story, if you'll just listen."

But Luke fled the galley to the bunkroom, the door snapping shut behind him.

Han sighed noisily, his gaze surveying the cold remains of their dinner.

Well, that had gone about as well as he'd expected.


	5. Chapter 5

Another short-ish chapter. This story is probably going to end up all over the place. I'm still not sure how it's going to end, but, meantime…._enjoy_...and feedback is always welcome. -T

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Luke hadn't emerged from the bunkroom. It had been over twenty-seven hours now and Han was starting to grow concerned. He knocked lightly on the door at some point. "Luke?" He called. But there was no answer.

Later, Solo tried the door, and to his surprise, it was unlocked. It hissed open to reveal the darkened cabin, Luke's dark form curled against the bunk, his back to Han. The smuggler could not decide if the young man was sleeping or not, but decided not to disturb him.

Later, he left a plate of food on the deck near Luke's bunk, trying to decide if Luke had stirred since he last peered into the cabin. Hours later, he reclaimed the same plate of food, untouched, noting that Luke still hadn't moved.

_Let the cub be,_ was Chewie's advice. Still, Solo paced.

There was an encrypted message from the Princess. Things were tense there. High Command had issued a directive to hunt down and capture the _Millennium Falcon._ They were not safe on any Alliance-friendly planets. She was okay, so they should not worry. They needed to be vigilant, stay safe.

With a sigh, Han decided to get some sleep himself. The full weight of his responsibility felt heavy and stifling. What in the worlds was he doing anyway? How did he get tied up in this mess? One thing he _had_ learned over the years was that things would look better after some rest.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Luke lay in the bunkroom in a haze of dreams and wakefulness. He felt detached from his body, not knowing how long he had lain there. Several times, he heard Han's voice speaking to him, but he couldn't bring himself to even lift his head, or acknowledge. It was as though the life had drained from his limbs.

He dreamed of Obi-wan again. This time, when the old hermit appeared against the blinding white crystalline dessert, Luke railed at him, thrashed and screamed. "If it's true, why did you lie to me?!" He pummelled the apparition in front of him with his fists, tears streaking his face, blurring his vision. "Is it true?!"

He screamed himself hoarse.

But Ben seemed immune to Luke's physical and verbal assault. Luke's angry fists passed right through the ghost, who then dissolved into the glittering sand.

When Luke blinked again, Kenobi was gone, but his voice, calm and unperturbed as ever, was in Luke's ears. "Luke, you must go to the Dagobah system."

"Damn you!" Luke screamed to no one, crumpling to the biting sand, sharp-edged crystals digging into his knees and elbows. He almost welcomed the pain. "I hate you! I hate that you lied to me!"

Numbers were in the sand-coordinates, they appeared to be. In spite of himself, Luke read them over and over again.

Then he sank gratefully into dark oblivion.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Han found Luke in the cockpit at the end of the sleep cycle. Solo had slept, which was probably more than he could say for Luke, judging by the looks of him. The younger man was hunched over the nav-computer, the blue glow lighting his face garishly. In his hand was the whole bottle of Correllian whiskey. The cockpit reeked of alcohol.

"What are you doing, kid?"

Luke didn't look up. After a moment of silence, the kid staring at the navicomp, Solo staring at him, Luke took a long swig from the bottle, his eyes not meeting Han's.

Han chewed his lip, entered cautiously. They were still roughly fourteen hours away from their destination. The mottle blue of hyperspace flashed weirdly through the small cockpit. Han didn't look at it.

"You hungry?" Solo asked, for lack of anything better to fill the silence.

No answer. Luke frowned at the computer, typed in several numbers, frowned again. Took another swig.

"You trying to poison yourself with that stuff?" Han asked, standing to take the mostly-empty bottle from Luke's hands. Luke did not resist. He continued to stare at the computer. Solo looked over his shoulder to see a stream of coordinates. "What's this?"

There was a long silence. Han was about to repeat the question.

"Dagobah," Luke answered finally, his voice flat.

"Dago-what?" Han shook his head. "Never heard of it."

Luke did not elucidate.

Han sat back down. "Kid….I…." he felt at a loss for words. Nothing he said was going to make anything all better. "I'm really sorry."

Luke turned his head, mechanically, his eyes glass-blue, empty. Han felt another shiver go down his spine. He knew Luke wasn't anything like Vader, but that expression was soulless, completely hollow. The thought occurred to him, not for the first time, that if Luke was Vader's son, he might be capable of all the things Vader was. But that was unfair. He was simply Luke Skywalker, a kid plopped down into some bad circumstances.

"Sorry for what, Han?"

"For all this….crappy stuff life has dealt you." Solo shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. "You don't deserve it. And I'm...sorry." Was that all he could say? _Sorry?_

Luke looked back to the navicomputer, expression still unchanging. "You said there was more that I needed to hear. I'm ready to hear it now."

Han looked at him dubiously. Luke was a wreck-he wasn't ready to hear anything at the moment, much less more bad news.

"I don't need your pity," Luke snapped, as though the Correllian had spoken out loud, momentarily fire flashing in his eyes. "I need information. Tell me what I need to know."

There was a long silence. There was an edge to Luke that Solo hadn't seen before, an underlying thrum of anger, like an electric current, a sour tang in the air. Han hesitated. How to put this in the best possible way? He told himself he should bill the Princess double for having to be the designated bearer of bad news.

"The….um...Alliance," he cleared his throat. "Once they read this communique some of them - not all of them, not the Princess or general Rieekan - but others, decided you might be a liability to the Alliance-bring Vader down on them. Then they thought they could use you as….a bargaining chip against Vader, and then they concluded that it was too dangerous for you to be allowed to fall into Vader's hands, and that they should do whatever is….neccessary….to prevent that." He swallowed, realizing it had all tumbled out in a heap of words, a heap of words he had just poured down upon the kid's head. That wasn't fair, was it?

Luke's eyes flickered, coming up to Han. He didn't look surprised or angry...or anything. "You mean, they intend to kill me." It wasn't a question. His voice was so quiet it was barely audible.

Solo hesitated, his gaze steady on the young man, wondering what else he could say to bring him down gently. "Yes," he finally said. There was nothing else. Sugar-coating and telling half-truths would only hurt him now. "That's why we had to get you away."

Luke's shoulders slumped, his gaze dropping to the floor. "So that's it then," he whispered.

"Luke…" Han began. But Luke shook his head.

"No, I understand. I understand now."

This time, he did not flee the cockpit, but rose unsteadily to his feet and walked slowly out.


	6. Chapter 6

They came out of hyperspace while Luke was still dry-heaving in the fresher. His second go at getting drunk hadn't yielded results any difference from the first, unfortunately, and he'd spent all of the last thirteen hours paying for it.

Han had checked up on the kid before heading to the cockpit. Luke had been sat leaning against the wall of the small fresher, face gray and gaunt, eyes closed. In no uncertain terms, he told Han to get out and leave him alone.

Solo did so, reluctantly. Now he was sitting, somewhat uncertainly in orbit around a very green, very sparsely-populated planet. The few pockets of inhabitants resided near the equator, but their technology was nowhere near what would constitute a threat of detection, especially if they moved in and landed quickly. After that, Solo's brilliant plan was to lie low for a while, either until supplies ran out or they received word from the Princess that they were in the clear again.

"The northern hemisphere," he told Chewie, gesturing with his free hand. It was warmer there - it was currently that part of the planet's summer. Solo hated the cold, so the decision was made. They could set down within three-thousand kilometers of the nearest settlement and remain perfectly undetected.

The wookiee grunted and took the controls. They swept in, a blur of green. It was mid-day on this side of the planet, its orangy sunlight behind them.

"Try to find a clearing small enough that it won't take too much to camouflage the _Falcon_," Han told him. He wanted to make sure the ship and the readings it gave off were completely undetectable, both from space and from local passersby.

Chewie lowered the _Falcon _into a small clearing in a denser forest, trees so tall that immediately the effect of the sunlight dimmed in the cockpit.

"Nice work," Solo grunted, unstrapping and heading again to the hold. The work of putting the stealth netting over the ship would probably take the rest of the daylight hours. They may as well get started.

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The sensation was like an eruption, a torrent of water bubbling up, then exploding forth with such intensity that it tore Darth Vader from sleep - or at least what passed as repose for the dark lord - left him reeling, his respirator the only thing keeping him from gasping for a steadying breath of air.

_Luke. _The boy, to his knowledge, had not used the Force before - not like this: pointedly, deliberately, and with surprising power for someone supposedly untrained. It was completely unshielded, as though the boy was unaware that his using the Force was akin to turning on a large lumen, whose spotlight lit up the dark, pinpointing his exact presence.

The moment was brief, quickly absorbed by the darkness again, but Vader could now recall his son's signature in Force, like a familiar scent.

The first time had been a surprise, a brief flare of light, a comet burning though. The second time, when that light flared up again - stronger, steadier, slightly more in control - Vader was ready. He latched onto the mental signature of the boy, mentally flinging his senses out, searching for a location.

Luke was not with the Rebel Alliance - that had already been ascertained through his spies. Vader had already correlated the boy's sudden disappearance from the Rebel base with the absence of the _Millennium Falcon_ and its pilot. What he did not know was _where_ Luke and the pilot had gone.

Now that he felt that bright steadiness in the Force again, Vader reached out.

_Luke, _he sent. There was no response.

He needed a location. A quadrant of the Galaxy, a system. Though the boy was unshielded, his presence shone out the brightest when he used the Force. It would take another event like the first one to be able to hone in on him.

Vader clenched his black leather having into a tight fist. He could be patient when he wanted to be. He could wait until that moment came. And he would be ready whenever it did.

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For a group of people who had been almost constantly on the run in recent memory, it was surprisingly difficult to stay in one place and try not to go crazy.

One week in and Solo and Chewie had replaced the ship's alternator, which they had been meaning to get around to for over a year; fixed the broken cooktop in the galley, tuned the hyperdrive motivators, cleaned the supply compartments, and now it seemed the Wookiee had taken up wood-carving, a skill Solo had to admit, he had no idea his partner possessed.

The planet was a pleasant-enough place to be. Certainly Solo had been much worse places in his life. It was temperate, with fresh water a short walk through the brush to a small stream. The local wildlife seemed to be mostly nocturnal - they had heard the strange howling and growling of animals only at night, but saw nothing during the day. They were careful to batten the ship at night. Some of the animals came close enough to the ship that the _Falcon's _infrared scanners spotted them. The computer's database, though it had limited information on Cattairn III, informed him that these were called Bersen, and they were extremely aggressive, with a nasty bite, known to be poisonous to humans. There were also carnivorous plants - some type of vine known as Wella, with beautiful flowers and a deadly neurotoxin to paralyze its victims with, some aquamarine creatures that resided in the streams that were actually edible, and some type of flying animal similar to Mynocks.

It could've been worse, Han decided. Besides, give him a carnivorous vine over a squadron of stormtroopers any day.

Luke, for his part, after getting over his hangover - which took three solid days - remained aloof and uncommunicative. No matter how Han and Chewie tried to draw him out, he was distant, disappearing in the forest for hours at a time or sometimes sitting cross-legged on a large boulder about seventy feet from the ship, motionless. The young man was starting to look haggard, his tunic hanging loose on his slight frame, the dark circles under his eyes lending a gaunt look to his face. Solo knew he wasn't eating, probably not sleeping either.

Han worried about him. Mostly because the younger man seemed so calm, so detached. It almost seemed the brash teenager he'd picked up on Tattooine a year ago was gone. He'd almost rather see the angry version of his friend that surfaced when he'd told him the news about Vader, than this insular, uncaring one, so preoccupied with his inner demons that he often didn't notice Solo speaking to him. But there was nothing to do but wait until they received further instructions from the Princess, so they waited.

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Darth Vader started appearing in his dreams.

The first time, Luke gasped to wakefulness like a drowning person clawing for the water's surface. The heavy breathing of the dark-helmeted monster seemed to follow him, even after he had jerked awake in the darkened bunkroom, grabbing a fistful of blanket to reassure himself he was still on the _Falcon._

He pulled that blanket around his shoulders and padded softly to the cockpit. It was still quite dark outside, the chrono putting it at 0300 local time.

They had been on Cattairn III for a few days. Luke knew about the predators that lurked in the dark, and so he sat vigilantly in the cockpit, waiting for the first tendrils of sunrise to peer through the trees, and then he quietly stole from the ship, thin parka fastened up to his chin to shut out the bite of the early morning chill, and he ran. He ran through underbrush, leapt across streams, boulders, fallen logs. He ran until he could run no more, then he sagged to the ground, his knees sinking into the soft mud, his hands shaking with exertion, a scream of despair on his lips.

_Ben, why did you lie to me?!_

Why?

When he finally returned to the ship, he noted the relief in Chewie's eyes, and the worry in Han's.

How they must hate him. _He_ was the reason they were here on this backwater planet, hiding instead of flying, fighting, smuggling. It was his fault the ship was covered in camo netting, relegated to nothing more than a glorified camping hut.

His fault.

The second time Vader appeared in Luke's dream, he spoke. _My son, _he said. The dark figure was standing in the meadow near the ship. His voice had taken on an almost fatherly tone, enormous black gauntlet reaching out. _Tell me where you are and I will come to you._

Luke's cry to wakefulness did not shut out that voice. In a panic, he tried to shut his mind against it, his heart hammering in his ears and throat.

_Just a dream, _he reminded himself over and over again. _Just a dream._

He began to be afraid to go to sleep. Instead of sleep, once Han shut the ramp for the night, Luke would wander to the hold or the galley, or the cockpit, any place with loose objects and he would practice. Practice using the Force to lift and move and spin those objects. At first it had been extraordinarily difficult, but then suddenly it was easy. It was easier than sleep.

He sat on a large rock in the sun during the daylight hours, lifted larger objects, moved them around, practiced honing his concentration, his awareness of the life forms around him. So absorbed would he become that when he finally came to awareness, he found hours had passed.

Other times, he spent practicing with his lightsaber, with the remotes Ben Kenobi had used on their first journey on the _Falcon_, what seemed like ages ago.

He didn't sleep. Then one afternoon, sitting on the rock, in complete wakefulness, balancing seven rounded stones on top of each other with the Force, aware of Han, and Chewie in the ship, of the small insects burrowing in the soil, of the wind as it moved in the gentlest of breezes, the voice, as if out loud, spoke. _My son, I am coming for you. Soon we will be together._

The stones slammed to the ground as Luke jerked in shock, shutting the voice from his mind, pulling inward, hiding.

_Coming for him._ No, that was impossible. Darth Vader did not know where he was.

It was nearly dusk, the sky a pale pinky-orange over the tree canopy. The time had passed without his being aware that it had. In the distance, near the ship, Chewie was calling something to him.

Slowly, Luke eased off the boulder, his legs refusing to cooperate for a moment, so long had he been sitting unmoving in one position. Chewie called something again, and Luke approached the ramp. The wookiee wuffed something at him, tousled his hair good-naturedly.

"I'm okay, Chewie," Luke answered, trying to guess at the meaning. He walked up the ramp, aware of the wookiee's eyes on him.

"What's for dinner?"

"Hungry, kid?" It was Han's voice, filled with that tone of false bravado that he had used in Tam's warehouse. When Luke rounded the corner to the galley, got a good look at Solo's face, he could see the crease-lines on his forehead, the set in his mouth that told a different story.

Luke was scaring him.

Luke tried to act casual, to ignore the look in Han's eyes. "Gundark stew and topatoes," he murmured, trying to adopt an expression of enthusiasm as he peered into the serving pot, the boiling brown sludge resembling the mud outside near the stream. Quite possibly he failed miserably.

"Luke, you haven't eaten all day. Here," Solo pushed a plate of reconstituted food in front of him.

Luke's eyes darted from Han to Chewie. They were both watching him, expectantly. Dutifully, he sat, and took a bite of the stew. His stomach was in knots, and it revolted at the introduction of the food.

"I'm…" he looked at them helplessly. "I'm afraid I'm not very hungry tonight." He set down his utensil.

Han and Chewie exchanged a look. Luke didn't miss it, but somehow it made him feel angry, like a scolded child.

"Han, I have to talk to you."

Solo's eyebrows raised. Luke tried to remember the last time in the past week that he'd spoken more than a few words to either of them. He couldn't.

"It's urgent. Something tells me we need to leave this planet. Immediately."

Han frowned. "What, is this some kind of gut instinct? We just got here. It's the perfect hiding spot. Why are you so jumpy?"

Luke shook his head. "You have to believe me. I'm not being jumpy. I just feel….like Vader knows where I am. Like he's coming for me."

Solo frowned. That look was in his eyes again. "How would you know that?" His voice sounded suspicious.

Luke shook his head. "I don't know." _How to explain this?_ "At night when I try to sleep, I think I hear his voice, telling me he's coming for me. I - I can't get away from it. I don't even want to sleep because that's when he starts talking to me, in my dreams…"

Luke trailed off. He'd said too much, he realized. The look in Solo's eyes was a mixture of edginess and pity. He didn't want pity. He wanted to be taken seriously, not this -

"Kid," Han sighed, as though he were talking down to a child. "What you need is a solid, uninterrupted night's sleep. When someone operates on as little as you have been, they start hallucinating - "

" - I'm not hallucinating," Luke snapped back, less than sure himself.

"Here," Solo was popping a tablet out of a pill container, holding it out in his open palm. "If you take one of these, I think it will help."

Luke eyed the pill in the smuggler's hand. "What is this, a - a sedative?" He shook his head. "No, I'm not taking that." He glanced from Han to Chewie. "You have to believe me."

"Luke," Han's voice sounded tired. "I know this whole Vader business isn't easy for you, but you've got to get a grip, pace yourself - "

"'Get a grip'?" Luke snapped, feeling white hot anger bubbling in his throat. Nothing, he was quickly realizing, was more infuriating than to not be taken seriously. "I'm trying to tell you we might be in danger and you want me to 'get a grip'?" His voice rose in pitch, and he pushed to his feet.

He was leaving, he didn't care where, just away.

"Luke, we have nowhere else to go," Han said at his back. "The list of mostly uninhabited planets that don't lie in either Imperial or Alliance space are few and far between. We can't count on neutral places not to give us away. Both of us are on the top of the most-wanted list, in case you forgot."

Luke turned on the smuggler. "And I'm telling you he knows where to find us," he snapped. "We're not safe here."

He spun, catching his parka from where he'd dropped it on the deck by the bulkhead, booted feet echoing down the corridor. Then Han's voice, laced with that same tone, "Luke, where are you going - it's getting dark out there."

He didn't care. The ramp lowered, the remains of the day merely tendrils of color in the dark, velvet sky. He could take care of himself. But he needed to get away, like oxygen, he just needed out.

Like that first day when he had taken off, booted feet scarcely touching the ground, he ran. Ran away from all of it, from Vader, from the Jedi Knights, from Obi-wan Kenobi, from the Alliance that wanted to kill him and the Empire that wanted him alive. He simply ran.


	7. Chapter 7

Thank you for all the reviews and follows. Hopefully the next few chapters answer some of your questions about how much Han knows about what Luke can do with the Force, etc. Any and all feedback is welcome. -T

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The forest was much noisier at night.

Han sat sourly in the center of the _Falcon's_ ramp, blaster on his lap, feeling the damp cold creep into his bones, and silently cursed Luke, Jedi Knights in general, the Princess, Darth Vader, and his own inability to look out for number one - himself.

Chewie was standing in the distance, a long shadow in the _Falcon's_ running lights, his bowcaster at the ready, and let a mournful howl.

Something uncomfortably close howled back. Solo's head snapped up, his finger tensing in the trigger. He lowered his infrared goggles over his eyes and scanned the dark forest.

"Watch it, you've got two behind you," he warned the wookiee.

Chewie turned and sent a warning shot into the trees, the laser burning a green line across Han's vision. There was a yelp and the sound of scrambling in the bushes.

Han got to his feet, blowing on his fingers to work some warmth into them, walked carefully down the ramp. He cupped his hand around his mouth, tilted his head up to the sky. "LUKE!"

No answer except the chittering sounds of the forest.

Chewie wuffed again. Solo shook his head. "We can't go until daylight, pal." He checked his chrono, for the umpteenth time. "Two more hours." It would be stupid to go out when it was still dark, especially considering they had no idea where Luke had gone, and considering how many Bersen they had taken pot shots at, just from the clearing.

But the longer Luke remained missing - going on eight hours now - the more his stomach twisted in knots, the more his mind conjured up pictures of the young man lying bleeding somewhere from a Bersen attack, or attacked by a Wella Vine, alone.

Blast the kid.

Chewie yowled something, took another shot at the trees. Han ground his teeth, aimed his scanner again at the forest, again registered no human forms, again forced himself to sit down and wait.

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The sky lightened from navy to gray, the forest sounds quieted, and Had decided it was safe to go. He threw the survival pack on his back, battened the ship, and followed Chewie into the brush.

They walked a long time in silence, pausing every few minutes to take a reading with the scanner and shout Luke's name. They followed the stream down until it met with another one, becoming more of a brooding river, narrow and deep, glassy on the surface, strong current underneath.

"Luke!" Han called for the millionth time.

They continued on in glum silence, rechecking the scanners every few minutes. After a time, his back now aching with the weight of the survival pack, Han's eyes caught something dark in the shadows. Cautiously, he approached it and nudged it with his toe. It was a Bersen. Or at least, what was left of its body. The head had been cleanly decapitated. With a lightsaber, by the looks of it.

Han felt his heart catch in his throat, eyeing the dead animal. "Luke!" he called again.

No answer. Four more meters downstream were the carcasses of four more Bersen and a single boot print in the mud on the edge of the riverbank. Luke had definitely been here.

The life-form scanner came to life in Solo's hand. Han jerked it toward him, scanning its readout. There was something, forty-five meters to the south of them. Chewie roared something unintelligible.

"Come on," Han snapped, quickening his pace to a jog. "This way!"

They scrabbled alongside the muddy riverbank for several minutes, Han glancing at his scanner to make sure they were still following the signal.

"Luke!" He shouted. This time he thought he heard a sound. Chewie leaped forward to a small copse of trees, his roar unintelligible.

Han finally rounded the brush. Chewie was kneeling next to a dark form sat against a large boulder.

It was Luke.

The young man was soaked through, the knees of his tunic caked with mud, a jagged tear in the sleeve. Luke's eyes met Han's, stormy gray with defiance.

Solo dropped his pack in the mud next to Luke and Chewie. "You okay, pal? Are you hurt anywhere?"

Luke shook his head as Solo's hands frisked over him, looking for any sign that the Bersen had gotten him. He must have taken a swim in the river - he was drenched. "Not…bleeding," Luke mumbled, teeth chattering.

Han pulled a blanket from the survival kit.

"You didn't," Luke began as Solo settled the blanket around his shoulders, "need to come out here to get me. I told you I'm fine."

Han shook his head, digging in the pack for warmers. "Sure you're fine. Just half-frozen and nearly became Bersen lunch back there."

"I can take care of myself."

"Sure kid," Han dismissed, irritation growing. How had the Princess roped him into this job again? He reminded himself the kid had just had his world turned on its side, what with the Alliance and Vader and this whole father business. He was allowed at least one free pass for that at least. Solo chewed his lip, clamped his mouth shut on saying something he'd regret later. "Doing a great job so far."

Luke glowered. "You and Chewie should go. You didn't sign up for this. Vader is on his way," he added, heavy resignation in his tone. "It's me he wants - not you. You need to leave."

Luke spoke with such conviction, Han felt a tendril of uneasiness creeping up his spine. What if it was possible that Luke really did know Vader was on his way? What did he really know about what the Jedi were capable of? Could they really communicate with each other across the Galaxy? It seemed far-fetched, even for Luke's crazy Force business.

He sighed, sympathy replacing his exasperation. "Kid, we're not leaving you. If it's worrying you that much, we'll blast out of here by tonight, okay? Find a new hiding place."

Eyes distant, Luke nodded.

"If you're done with the self-imposed exile routine, then come on." Solo offered a hand up.

After a moment, the dark expression on Luke's face eased slightly, replaced by a look of chagrin. He took the proferred hand and let Solo pull him to his feet.

"You okay to walk?" Han asked, surveying him. Luke's lips were a tinge of blue, his skin pasty, wet strands of hair clinging to his forehead. His teeth chattered, but he pulled the blanket around his shoulders and nodded. Solo nodded back. "Get the blood flowing - you'll be feeling better in no time. You've got warm clothes and a cup of hot kaf waiting for you back at the ship."

Han led the way forward, Chewie bringing up the rear, Luke between. Han shouldered the pack, pulling out his navigator to make sure they were retracing their steps and not inadvertently driving deeper into the forest.

They again passed the carcasses of the Bersen. Han spoke to keep Luke talking. "How many did ya run into last night?"

When Luke didn't answer, Solo turned to repeat the question. "About twenty," Luke answered finally. "They traveled in two different packs."

Han let a low whistle. "You're lucky they didn't make Bantha hash out of you."

"They don't like the water," Luke finally allowed. "And they didn't seem to be able to follow my scent after that."

"That saved your hide."

A long pause. Then, "Yes."

Chewie wuffed something.

"He says he thought you didn't know how to swim," Han translated.

"I don't."

Solo turned to give Luke a look. The kid was frowning at the water - its glassy surface reflecting the gray of the early-morning sky - his expression unreadable. "You're _really _lucky then. Or really stupid."

Luke shrugged, blue-gray eyes taking on a vulnerable expression before it was quickly quashed, hardening again to a frown. "Maybe both."

A little further up the trail as the path near the bank became steeper, Luke stumbled in the mud. Han half-turned, saw that the younger man wasn't getting up, hands braced against the ground; eyes listless, fixed on the trail in front of him. "Come on, kid," he muttered, trying to sound encouraging. "Not too much farther now."

Chewie stepped up, pulled the kid to his feet, Luke leaning heavily on the wookiee for a moment, catching his breath. Chewie growled something now. _Was the cub sick?_

Solo frowned, eyeing Luke. It wasn't that cold at the moment, but the overnight temperatures had gotten cool. He knew it didn't take extraordinarily low temps for hypothermia to set in, especially soaking wet as Luke was.

"You feeling okay, kid?"

"Sure, fine," Luke's face was blank, pale, his voice was small - nothing like the torrent of anger that had tumbled out of him the night before. Maybe the kid had gotten it all out of his system, which would be good because Solo could tell he was becoming short tempered, and needed some sleep soon before he ended up losing his cool at Luke or Chewie over something stupid. Luke pushed away from Chewie's assistance, brushed uselessly at the mud on his trousers, fumbled for the edge of the blanket, pulling it tighter around him. His expression returned to a scowl, brow creased. "You don't have to slow down for me."

Chewie stayed near Luke anyway, stood by to steady him as they crested another hill, this one with less than a noticeable trail, slick leathery leaves underfoot.

It began to rain, a light, misty drizzle that assured everything that wasn't wet before would become so in the next few minutes. Han quietly cursed to himself, feeling steadily grumpier. "We're almost to the ship," he reassured out loud again. "Just a little farther."

He reached the top of the small hill and recognized the stretch of trickling steam ahead. "There, see?"

It was another ten minutes before the ship came into view, exactly as they had left it. By now, both Solo and Chewie had Luke by one elbow, all pretenses aside, keeping the younger man from stumbling over the protruding roots and rocks in their path, and they were all, indeed, soaking wet. Luke's breathing was ragged and he was shivering violently. Han berated himself for not trying to get the kid warm before setting back to the ship, so eager as he was to get out of there. It was clear the long hours he had been exposed to the wet and cold temperatures had taken their toll.

"Come on Luke," he urged quietly, pushing away his own anger and exhaustion as he focused on the kid. "Almost there."

Chewie toggled the ramp controls. It began to rain harder. Solo practically dragged his friend up the ramp. The din of the rain pelting the ship was hard to talk over.

"Chewie, boil some water," Han instructed the wookiee. "We need some kaf and hot soup or broth." He turned back to the gray-faced form of Luke, half-collapsing against the corridor wall. "Come on kid, we have to get you out of these wet things."

Luke did not resist as Solo pulled him forward, to the bunkroom. Han dug out thermal blankets, dry clothes, tossed them in Luke's direction. The younger man fumbled with the clasps, swayed dangerously before Han caught him, steadied him. "You okay?" The smuggler asked again.

Luke only nodded.

Solo helped Luke, got him bundled in the cockpit where he could turn the heat at the highest setting - "give it ten minutes, kid, and it'll be like a sauna in here" - and grabbed the mug of broth Chewie had warmed for him. Once he made sure Luke was okay, he changed out of his wet clothes, downed some Kaf and eyed the brooding sky. The rain had trickled to a stop for the moment.

"I guess we should get the stealth netting off the ship before it starts to rain again."

Chewie growled a question.

Solo chewed his lip. "Well, Luke is adamant that we can't stay here. So we either humor him, or," he shrugged, "we chase him through the forest again."

The wookiee barked a short laugh.

Solo glared. He was running on too little sleep to find the humor in this. "Not funny, pal."

It took another hour to remove the netting, both of them picking out the leaves and branches and lifting the sodden mess, more than double its weight thanks to the rain, to the center of the ship, where they attempted to detangle and refold it.

"You're right, Chewie," Solo panted, leaning over to catch his breath, after the wookiee had raised his objections about muscling the heavy netting inside. "This thing is almost more of a hassle than it's worth. We may need to let it dry a bit before putting it back in the hold."

The wookiee barked something.

"Right. And then it will rain again." He scanned the sky. Patches of blue were peeking through. "But it's clearing up. If the sun comes out, it'll dry in an hour or two." He chewed his lip. "When the princess pays us, we should upgrade to the newer Tunstun ones."

Chewie concurred.

"Anyways," Solo stifled a yawn, stretched against stiff muscles. "I'm going to catch some sleep while it dries. Then plot out our next move."

He swung himself down the access ladder, and dropped to the ground. At the ramp, he kicked the mud off his boots and trudged into the ship, rubbing bleary eyes. Now that the adrenalin from the previous night was wearing off, the full weight of his exhaustion settled down on him.

On his way to his cabin, he poked his head into the cockpit. A wall of hot air hit him. Luke was slouched under the thermal blanket in the oversized co-pilot's chair, his unfinished broth on the console beside him. He appeared to be asleep. Solo did not disturb him, just reached the controls on the bulkhead, shut off the heat, and slipped quietly out.

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The planned hour-long nap became three, and when Chewie poked his head in the cabin to tell him something, Solo jerked awake, trying to remember where he was and how he got there.

"Mmmkay," he mumbled to the wookiee and covered his face with his pillow.

The wookiee growled again and this time the words registered.

_Something is wrong with the Cub._

"Hmm?" Han opened his eyes, registering his surroundings now. "No, he's fine. He was sleeping last I checked."

Chewie shook his head, barked something Solo didn't catch, and left the cabin.

With a groan, Han covered his face with the pillow again. What he would give to able to just lie here…

But he swung his legs over the side and pushed to his feet.

"Okay, okay I'm up. What's the problem?" He padded back to the cockpit, ready to tell Luke to stop whining…

But Luke was no longer curled up in the chair. Instead he was lying on the deck thrashing against Chewie, who was knelt beside him in the cramped space. Han got a look at the younger man's features - eyes dark and sunken, cheeks hollow, lips gray - and went cold. Something was very wrong.

"Chewie, what happened?" He pushed past the wookiee to kneel at Luke's other side. "Luke!" He snapped sharply, thinking the young man would open his eyes, or answer. But he got no response.

"Luke, come on kid." Han shook the kid's arm - froze when he realized…. "He's burning up."

In a creeping sense of panic, Han brushed Luke's forehead. "No kid - this is the absolute wrong time to get horribly sick. The wrong time, you hear me?" He turned to the wookiee. "Get the medkit. We've got to get the fever down."

Chewie complied, tearing out of the cockpit. "Luke," Han said again, trying not to notice Luke's paper-dry skin, his wheezing breathing. Hypothermia didn't typically leave its victims with a fever, did it? Maybe Luke had picked up some other pathogen during his all-night foray into the forest. Not a Bersen, not the Wella vine either. What other dangers had been lurking out there that they didn't know about? "Luke, wake up."

Solo shook him lightly, patted his face to wake him up. Luke flailed his arms briefly, and muttered something the smuggler couldn't understand.

"Come on, kid," Han rambled. "We've got to blast out of here soon and we need your help. Come on - snap out of it, okay?"

Chewie arrived with the medkit, a big backpack jammed with supplies. Solo silently thanked the timeliness of Tam and his resources. The _Falcon's _medkit had needed replacing for a while now.

'Fever tablets," he muttered to the wookiee. "Got anything like that?"

Chewie dug into the pack, tossing packages aside. He emerged triumphantly with a….

"Medical scanner?" Han's eyebrows raised. "Okay, sure, give it here." He thumbed the scanner to _on_ while the wookiee was still turning the pack upside down in search of those tablets. He aimed it at Luke. The temperature reading read 105.7. Solo swore.

"Not good," he muttered to Chewie. "What the hell did he manage to catch?"

Chewie howled a helpless response. _The cub may need medical attention._

Han laughed shortly, no humor in his voice. "Yeah, well, that's just the problem. When the entire galaxy has a price on your head, medical attention is a luxury you can't afford."

Suddenly Luke's eyes opened wide, staring just past Han. "Vader," he mumbled, his expression fearful. Then a moan. "No…."

Han pursed his lips, shook Luke again. "Luke, wake up. You're okay. You're okay." He could feel the heat from Luke's body radiating through the woven tunic shirt. "We've got to get this off him," he muttered to Chewie.

A half-sob from Luke. His eyes were closed tightly now. "No," he cried louder. "No!" Suddenly the thrashing resumed with a vengeance, limbs striking at anything within range.

Han narrowly missed getting punched in the nose. "Chewie, hold him!" He ordered. "We need to bring his temperature down." _Short of taking him back out to the stream and dropping him in it again_, he thought darkly.

Chewie, already sitting on the floor, pulled Luke toward his lap, holding the young man's arms to his sides so he could not hurt himself.

Han resumed the hunt for the fever tablets. Surely a medkit this extensive would have a basic medication like that…. "Here!" He pulled them out triumphantly, holding up a small bottle. He popped the bottle open and thumbed out two pills. Now for the challenge of getting Luke to swallow them.

Luke's teeth were clenched together, his expression a grimace. "Kid," Solo coaxed uselessly. "I need you to swallow this medicine for me, okay? That means you have to open your mouth."

Chewie was holding Luke's head still, in spite of the kid's Herculean effort to free it. At the next moan of "no…" from the kid, he dropped the tablets into Luke's mouth.

Luke didn't exactly swallow them. In fact, he started to gag until Chewie turned him on his side and the tablets made their unfortunate reappearance on the cockpit floor.

Han grimaced. _Well, that didn't work._ "Don't go messing up my ship now, kid, or I'm dropping you off at the nearest spaceport," he muttered to an incoherent Luke. Chewie growled something about a syringe, gesturing to the med kit again.

"Right," Solo realized, plunging his hand into the pack, searching, hoping. There were several syringes, each filled with a different color of viscous liquid. His eyes scanned the labels until..."found it!"

He tore open the sterile packaging, loaded the ampoule, pushed Luke's sleeve up past his elbow, held his arm steady, and pushed the plunger before Luke had a chance to squirm away. Luke arched forward with another moan.

"Don't let him hurt himself," Han told Chewie, pushing to his feet. "I'm going to grab some cold packs."

He returned with a handful of cold packs and towels from the galley. Luke was lying still now. "Fever should be going down soon," Han grunted, hand brushing the kid's forehead. He palmed the medical scanner, aimed it at Luke again. His temp and heart rate were still both sky-high. "Come on, let's get him to his bunk."

The wookiee lifted the young man carefully. Luke lay motionless in the wookiee's arms, his eyes closed, face still a gray pallor.

Once they got him in his bunk, his tunic shirt down to his waist to cool him down, Han set a cool, damp cloth over Luke's forehead, and wrapped several cold packs in towels.

"Come on, kid," he muttered again, tucking a pack under each arm, one on the boy's forehead. "Time to wake up."

He got no response.

They waited. There was nothing else to do. Pace the ship, eye the afternoon sun make its slow creep across the forested sky, and wait.

Solo kept the medical scanner clutched in his white fist, obsessively checking it, willing the numbers to go down, but they held steady.

They changed out the cold packs, piled on more, gave Luke another shot of medicine, tried to coax some water through parched, cracked lips, tried to shake the younger man out of his delirium, but there was no change.

Finally, several hours in, Han was starting to realize this problem might be bigger than he and Chewie could handle alone. Reluctantly, he sent off a coded message to the princess. _Your golden boy needs a medic. Please advise._ He pressed send, running a hand exhaustedly over his face. Who was he kidding anyway? What could the princess possibly do or say from half a galaxy away that could help them solve this mess?

He shuffled back to the bunkroom, where Chewie was keeping a silent vigil. "Any change?" He asked hoarsely, fingers tightening on the medscanner again. Luke lay silent and still, breath shallow.

The scanner beeped a new warning. 107.

_Kreth._

Solo might not be a medic, but he knew how dangerous this was. "We need to get him to a doctor right now," he muttered. "He can't wait any longer."

Chewie barked plaintively. _How?_

Han pursed his lips. They had no other choice, really. He had to hope this planet's locals were politically neutral, didn't study most-wanted lists or harbor bounty hunters, and possessed some degree of helpful medical technology. "It's back to civilization," he muttered to the wookiee. "We're going to hope the natives are friendly."

Chewie barked in surprise.

"We are out of options," Solo snapped. "At this point, we risk it or he could die."

The wookiee was silent.

Han considered his decision a moment longer, then stood abruptly. "I'll take the pre-flight. Watch him."

He charged back to the cockpit, sank into the familiarity of the pilot's chair, flipped a half-dozen switches. The _Falcon _hummed evenly and reassuringly to life. He scanned the displays. All systems were on-line.

Chewing the inside of his cheek, he eyed the com unit. He was about to blow their cover. _Here goes nothing._


	8. Chapter 8

Hello everyone and thanks for reviewing. Things are heating up for our heroes. Comments and feedback are welcome. -T

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Han toggled the com scanner, the computer searching for available signals. There really hadn't been much information about the technology possessed by the sentient inhabitants of Cattairn III, only that the residents here were mostly human, and had immigrated here several hundred years before.

But….there. The scanner was registering four separate signals, originating from the more densely-populated region near the equator. He toggled the com, checking to make sure he was transmitting his fake ID. "This is captain Doran Klep of the _Starrunner. _Come in."

He waited.

Again, Han leaned toward the com. "Captain Doran Klep of the _Starrunner. _I have a passenger on board with a medical emergency. Please come in." He toggled the switch to the bunkroom. "Chewie? We're ready for take-off." He got a short bark in response.

Han keyed the repulsors. The familiar whine of anticipation built up around him. "Doran Klep of _Starrunner. _Come in," he repeated into the com. Silence.

Chewie growled something Han didn't catch as he entered the cockpit, dropping his bulk with surprising nimbleness into the co-pilot's chair.

"No answer," Solo muttered, glaring at the silent com unit. "Not yet." He glanced sidelong at the wookiee. "The kid okay?"

Chewie gave him a strange look and then shrugged noncommittally. Luke was anything but 'okay'.

"Yeah, yeah," Solo waved him off before he had a chance to reply. "And by 'okay', I mean he hasn't died yet." He cringed inwardly at the cynicism even he could hear in his own tone. It wasn't that he was heartless, or even really inconvenienced. He wasn't angry at the kid. Not really.

It was that he felt helpless. Han Solo had spent years building shields around himself to protect himself from ever being hurt again. But somehow the kid had, in his own irritating way, found a way around those shields. Han had come to realize in the last few hours that he cared. Cared what happened enough to forget himself momentarily, enough to realize there was a lump of fear lodged in his throat, because he knew Luke could die. And if he cared enough to keep Luke from dying, then that meant he cared about someone as a friend. And that scared the hell out of him.

Setting his jaw, Solo faced forward, concentrating on the task at hand. Wordlessly, he toggled the controls of the _Falcon. _The ship lifted off, distancing itself from the clearing they had tried to call home for less than two weeks. So much for lying low.

The ship skimmed over the tops of trees, gaining speed and altitude, turning the ground below into a green blur. Again Han leaned over the com. "_Starrunner_ requesting assistance," he said again. "Do you read?"

The navigator was showing the lush, verdant sea of green ending abruptly at a vast ocean roughly nine-hundred kilometers to the east. "I'm getting a fairly large population reading," he muttered to Chewie.

The wookiee growled a question. _A place to land. _Han shook his head. By now, whatever detection systems they had set up - or weapon systems for that matter - would be able to detect a ship coming into their airspace. He reached for the com system again. "This is the _Starrunner. _We have a medical emergency and request assistance. Over."

The radio silence stretched on for several minutes. Solo cursed under his breath. "All power to the fore shields," he told Chewie. "Just in case."

Sublight engines kicked in, accelerating their approach to the coast. Within minutes, they were flying along the coastline, a blue ocean crashing against craggy black cliffs. The computer identified a settlement below, as well as the source of two of the signals.

"That looks pretty good," he muttered, jabbing a finger at the display. There was a stretch of rocky outcrop that looked like it could easily fit the _Falcon. _"Set her down there."

As they neared the surface, he could see several crude buildings nestled among the dense clusters of trees.

Chewie set the ship gingerly down on the craggy surface, killing the power.

They sat in silence for a moment, gazing out the viewport. _Nice view._

Solo flattened his palms on the armrests of the pilot's seat, checked the charge on his blaster at his hip. "Let's go meet the welcoming committee."

He was only half-joking. The scanners were picking up the approach of two speeders. "We've got company."

He lurched to his feet, walking briskly down the corridor, Chewie on his heels. Solo palmed the door to the sleeping cabin. "You okay in here, kid?" He asked full voice, though he knew the young man wasn't about to answer. Worry wormed its way back into his gut as he stepped into the dim cabin. The slight figure lying prone on the bunk was only barely visible in the dark, a sheen of perspiration on his face and chest reflecting the the faint blue light. Han held his breath, looking for the tell-tale rise and fall of Luke's chest to know he was still breathing, still alive. After a moment's pause, he saw it, breathed his own short sigh of relief.

"Hang in there, kid, help is on the way," he muttered into the dark.

Chewie's roar from the _Falcon's _entrance let him know the ramp was lowered and they did indeed have company. His hand loosening his blaster from his hip holster, Han quickened his pace down the corridor.

The entrance came into view, and with it Chewie's dark bulk, his hands open in front of him, which could really only mean one thing…..

"Step out where we can see you," a harsh male voice barked at Han.

Swallowing, Solo lifted his hand away from his blaster. "We come in peace," he said, keeping his voice low and calm. He came into view of the owner of the other voice, a tall rangy man in a long coat, gray goatee, unkempt dark hair, faded blue eyes, hard as steel, mid-sized blaster carbine pointed at Chewbacca.

"We are traders," Han continued, doing his best to look as harmless as possible. Behind the tall man stood a stouter, younger man with closely cropped red hair and olive tunic that appeared vaguely military, and next to him, a slight, middle-aged woman, faded blonde hair, thin, weathered face, mouth set in an unreadable expression. Both brandished their own blasters.

Han plowed on, not sure of the reception, but with little other choice. "One of our crew members is extremely ill. He needs medical attention or he will die. We can pay you." He paused, all dignity out the window at this point. "Please. We need help."

The tall man with the flinty gaze held Han's expression a moment longer, the silence stretching like melting meladian rubber, the distant sound of the surf crashing against the cliffside. Han was out of any other ideas. If this didn't work…..

The blaster carbine lowered slightly. The lines around the man's faded eyes eased. "How can we know you're telling the truth?"

Solo took a cautious breath. "Take my blaster," he said, nodding to his hip holster. "Follow me and see where he is."

The silence held for another long moment.

Finally, the blaster lowered. "Caine?" The tall man spoke to the man at his side without turning his head. "Watch the wookiee."

The man Caine nodded shortly, stepping forward, blaster raising slightly, his eyes never leaving Chewie.

The tall man walked up the ramp to Solo, until he was eye-level with the smuggler. "Please," he indicated, gesturing Han forward, his expression sardonic, still suspicious.

Solo stepped forward back the way he had come, aware that the man could easily shoot him in the back and there was nothing he could do about it. Bringing a stranger aboard his ship was the last thing in the universe he would ever do willingly, but it was a risk he was going to have to take, a necessary evil.

"In here," he gestured. They arrived at the bunkroom, Solo palming the door open again, this time activating the lights. Luke lay exactly as he had left him, shallow breathing, gray pallor, sunken eyes closed.

The man stepped into the small room, holstering his blaster. "What happened?" He asked.

Solo eyed the other man, gauging his apparent willingness to help them. "I don't know. He has been delirious for hours. His fever spiked at one-oh-seven. We can't get it down.

The man man swore softly, kneeling next to the bunk, reaching out a hand to Luke's forehead, snatching it back. "Has he come in contact with Gorts? Finger-length black slugs, they live in the bottom of streams and rivers." He grimaced to himself. "Blood-sucking parasites."

Solo frowned, feeling a fresh chill run down his spine. "Gorts?" he repeated, looking down at Luke. The kid hadn't mentioned anything like that. Maybe he had encountered them, but they wouldn't have seemed significant. "I don't know. I haven't seen anything like that. He did go in the river though…"

The man swore again, reaching for his comlink. "Caine," he muttered into it. "Tell Padduk we're on our way. This kid's got the Fever."

"Wait, hold on," Solo frowned, as the taller man pocketed the comlink and gained his feet. "We're moving him?" Somehow he's been hoping to bring the medical person aboard his ship, treat Luke, and take off again. In and out. "Where are we going?"

The man didn't answer the question. "Can the Wookiee carry him to the speeder?" He asked. "We can get him to the doctor. There may not be much we can do, but Padduk is his best hope."

Another chill crept down Han's spine. "What is 'the Fever'?"

The man shook his head, more urgent this time. "Get the Wookiee."

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Chewie carried Luke, wrapped in a blanket, cradled to his large chest like a rag doll, to the man's waiting speeder. The shorter man Caine and the woman had holstered their weapons and were to follow behind in the other speeder, but Han had already decided the Wookiee would remain at the ship, while Solo would stay with Luke.

Luke only moaned in discomfort once as the Wookiee set him gingerly in the back of the open-air speeder, Solo bunching a jacket under his head for a pillow. The early evening air this close to the coast was heavy and cool. Despite the raging fever and the perspiration standing out on the kid's forehead, Han worried about the chill. He tucked the blanket carefully around his friend.

"Ready?" The tall man, Terrik - he had introduced himself as they'd briskly made their way to the speeders - was already in the pilot's seat. Han nodded quickly, his eyes flicking momentarily away from Luke.

They took off, winding through sandy knolls, clusters of short trees - nothing that resembled an actual, genuine path or road. They whipped past several stout dwellings, which looked to be made of local wood, some lighted from the inside, inhabited. It felt like an eternity before they pulled up to a tall wooden building, several stories high. It looked unbelievably rustic to Solo, but once the speeder pulled in front of the building, two human males - both with a shock of thick black hair, wearing uniforms that would probably identify them as members of the medical profession on any planet - emerged with a repulsor gurney, which somehow helped the smuggler feel slightly more reassured.

"Is Doctor Padduk here?" the man Terrik asked the orderlies curtly. One of them nodded.

"Yes, he is waiting."

They quickly loaded Luke onto the stretcher. Terrik nodded to Han to follow them into the building. Not that Solo needed any encouragement. He wasn't about to let the kid out of his sight.

A middle-aged man of medium height with thinning hair and graying temples met them as they rushed through the entryway of the medical center. His steely gray eyes were on Luke, grim. "You are the man who brought him here?" He asked, eyes flicking to Solo.

Han nodded, falling into step with their pace, down the corridor.

"How long has he been like this?"

The stark corridor could rival that of any modern medcenter Solo had seen. The harsh glare of the lights stung his eyes. He tried to think. "Since this morning - eight or ten hours, maybe?" Had it really been that long?

"Any vomiting?"

Han shook his head.

"Age?"

Solo swallowed. "Twenty."

"His name?"

Han scrambled for a moment. How idiotic of him not to have an alibi for Luke's identity. "Ah….Dack," he mumbled. "Dack Cheppish."

The doctor eyed him with an expression Solo could not identify, and for one terrifying moment, Han pictured him on the com with Imperial forces, collecting his cool billion-credit bounty. _He knows, _he thought. But again, there was nothing Han could do about it. This was Luke's best hope.

"Dack?" Padduk was focused on Luke now. They had pushed the gurney into a small room, an array of equipment on the walls, a short curtain partially covering the window, black plastene chair in the corner. "Dack, can you hear me? You say he went in a river?" He was addressing Han now.

Han nodded. "Yes, in the night sometime. I thought maybe he had hypothermia. We, ah, didn't find him until morning, sitting on the bank, soaking wet."

The medic frowned. The orderlies were throwing a sterile drape across Luke's front, lifting his left arm, looking for a suitable vein. Padduk shook his head. "No, this wouldn't be hypothermia. Did he receive any Gort bites? Have to pull any Gorts off him?"

Han shook his head. "I don't know. I don't know what a bite mark would look like."

The medic nodded, his eyes on the task at hand. He strapped a firm black band to Luke's upper arm. "They are hard to spot. Klimpton?" He asked, eyes raising to one of the orderlies. "Check his legs and feet. Was he in the water with shoes on?"

"I...yes," Han answered. "Yes."

Klimpton was following orders with a short nod. Padduk frowned at Luke's arm. "This is a terrible vein. He's dehydrated. Have you checked the other arm?"

"Worse sir," answered the other orderly.

With an audible sigh, Padduk chewed his lip, tore open the sterile packaging. "I guess we'll have to make it work."

Han glanced away. He would never admit to anyone, but he was slightly squeamish. He did not do well around blood or needles.

Padduck cursed. Solo's eyes darted back to him in alarm. A line of dark red blood trailed across the sterile drape. "I need the other arm." The orderly stepped in with a handful of gauze as the doctor circled to Luke's other side, retying the black band above his other elbow.

Luke stirred slightly, uttering a faint moan. His eyelids fluttered.

"Dack, can you hear me?" Padduk asked again, louder. "Dack?"

Solo looked at the young man. "Kid?" he said out loud, ruffling Luke's hair. "Wake up, huh?" Luke's eyes drifted shut again.

"Here sir," the first orderly, Klimpton, announced triumphantly, indicating a mark on Luke's calf. Han looked down. There was a small circular red mark about two centimeters across, just below his knee. He swallowed and looked at Padduk, wondering what it was supposed to mean.

Padduk uttered another curse. Not the most reassuring sound, coming from a medic.

When the medic attempted the IV the second time, all hell suddenly broke loose. Instruments on the sterile tray began to clatter, and a sudden wind seemed to rush through the room. Suddenly Luke was thrashing, nearly toppling from the gurney, a sob of "No!" breaking from him. Han grabbed ahold of the young man in a panic, holding his arms to his sides. One of the orderlies flew back as if struck by an invisible hand. "No," Luke cried again, bucking against Han's hold.

"Hypo!" Padduk barked, unfazed, snatching the vial from the rattling tray. Before Han could blink, the medic had pressed the plunger into the side of Luke's neck, and the kid suddenly fell back, his clenched hands falling slack.

"What in seven Hells _was _that?" The second orderly hissed, backing toward the door.

"Cut the chatter, Conchan," Padduk ordered. "I need leads on him right now. Then load the anti-viral into the IV." The orderly nodded, his eyes wide with fear. _The kid's going to blow our cover, _Solo thought grimly, staring at Luke's unconscious form, even as he straightened and stepped aside to give the doctor room to work.

With two veins blown, Padduk moved to Luke's wrist. "It's imperative we get fluids into him," he muttered, half to Han, half to himself. "Gort fever is a hemorrhagic fever. In the end stages, patients vomit blood. This is when we know they have very little time left. You say he hasn't had any vomiting?"

Han shook his head, feeling like his heart was being squeezed. "No," he said again, eyes still on Luke. The Princess was going to kill him. He couldn't keep one Rebel pilot _kid_ alive for even three weeks.

This time the IV needle took. The second orderly swooped in to tape everything down while Padduk stripped off his gloves, hung the saline bag from the pole, and looked at Han again. "We have to make sure that IV stays where we put it - the hardest thing will be to find another usable vein." He ran a hand through his hair. "We'll run the antiviral, which has about a sixty percent chance of bringing the fever down to safer levels." He pursed his lips. "I'm not going to sugar-coat it for you. Gort Fever is very serious - has a very high mortality rate. We have little to offer in terms of a cure. It's basically palliative care. But still," he forced a smile, as if remembering to put some effort into his bedside manner, "some do pull through. The next twelve hours will be critical."

Padduk stepped out of the room while the second orderly placed cardiac leads and hooked up the monitor. On the screen, Solo could see the green line bobbing up and down like a psychedelic wave. A glance at Luke showed a vein on his temple throbbing with his rapid pulse. Solo heaved a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Luke wasn't out of the woods, and it looked like they were stuck here for the time being, but he was a fool if he didn't recognize that things could have turned out much worse.

After a moment of hesitant pacing, he pulled the plastene chair close to the gurney, hand moving instinctively to Luke's forehead to check the fever, even though the readout spewing heart rate and oxygen saturation kept flashing his temperature in red. _106.8._

He pulled out his comlink. "Chewie?"

There was a short bark of acknowledgement from the speaker.

"He's here in the medcenter."

Another bark.

Solo slouched forward. "Yeah, well, it looks like we're stuck here for the time being."

Another growl. _How long?_

Solo shook his head. "I don't know, pal. It doesn't look really good."

An anguished howl. Chewie was pretty attached to Luke. They all were, obviously.

Han sighed, his gaze slipping back to the kid, gaunt and feverish, on the narrow bed. "Just stay with the ship and look sharp. I'll keep you posted."

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A plastene chair wasn't the most comfortable place to sleep, though someone did make a point to bring him a blanket. This would make the second night in a row that Solo was losing sleep on Luke Skywalker's behalf. If the kid weren't so sick, he would be really angry about now. As it was, he was completely and utterly worn down.

At some point, he must have fallen asleep in the chair, with his forehead propped against the cushioned edge of the gurney, because when he awoke, white sunlight was streaming through the small curtained window and a new, lower tone was beeping from one of the monitors.

Solo jerked upright, ready to slam his fist onto the red button that would summon someone, but his brain caught up to his panicky reaction, and he did a double-take of the monitor. The first thing he noticed was Luke's heart rate had slowed to a reasonable pace - the pace of someone sleeping. The second thing he noticed was the temperature reading - in green numbers this time. _100.3._

Relief washed over the smuggler and he realized he was grinning like an idiot. He stretched aching legs and stood. Luke's color was better - no longer the purple-gray in the hollows of his cheeks and eyes. He seemed to be breathing more evenly now.

Solo laughed out loud. This called for a celebratory trip to the refresher down the hall, now that he knew Luke was out of danger.

He stepped into the hall. Dr. Padduk was coming down the corridor toward him. Solo threw a half-salute. "The fever's broke," he grinned.

Padduk brightened, headed toward him. "This is very encouraging," he nodded. Solo nodded back, then darted to the refresher.

When he returned, it was to see Padduk hanging another bag of saline, and Luke, staring with a frown at the ceiling. His head turned to Solo, an expression of relief on his features. "Han," he croaked.

"Hey kid." Solo moved to pat him reassuringly on the shoulder, remembering belatedly that his name was supposed to be _Doran._ "How're ya feeling?"

Luke grimaced. "Like I've been trampled by a herd of Banthas," he whispered. "Care to fill me in on….everything?"

Padduk stepped forward. "Dack, I'm Doctor Padduk. You are here in my medical center being treated for Gort Fever, a very dangerous pathogen carried by the Gort, a small slug that can be found in bodies of fresh water on Cattairn III. It is my understanding you went into a river…."

But Luke was not listening. He had arched his eyebrows at Han at Padduk's use of the name _Dack_, and Solo, standing slightly behind the doctor was pantomiming _just go with it _and _I'll explain later_ until Luke, still looking worn, cracked a faint smile.

Padduk stopped talking to Luke, turned back to Solo. "Am I missing something here?"

Solo stammered an apology and Luke put on his serious face again. But it was good to see the kid smile. Han realized he had not seen that since they left Terrenia.

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Luke wanted to leave the medcenter. Padduk wanted him to stay. Solo wanted the kid to calm down and stop being so agitated, but it seemed it wasn't to be.

After a short nap and a breakfast - if one could call it that - of a few sips of water and two spoonfuls of fruit puree, Luke began to grow very agitated. "I'm feeling fine now," he insisted to Han. The temperature reading on the screen showed the fever was still down-_99.9._

To Padduk's irritation, Luke had disconnected the cardiac leads, and had wanted to pull the IV, until Han snapped at him sharply to leave the thing alone. The young man sat on the edge of the gurney to reorient himself to being upright, then began walking the room in his gray medcenter tunic, pulling his IV pole with him.

"How soon can we get out of here?" He asked Han for the umpteenth time.

Han, leaning the plastene chair on the back legs, folded his arms across his chest. "Sit down, kid," he muttered. "When the doc says you're free to go, we'll get out of here."

And Luke did sit down for a little bit. He seemed to run out of steam, trembling like he was cold, and reluctantly lay back down on the gurney. After a short spell of silence, where Han practically nodded off again, he was jolted out of his half-dream by a gasp from Luke.

Solo jolted. "What is it, kid?"

Luke's eyes were round as Ilo's moons. He still appeared to be trembling.

"Are you okay? Is the fever…..?" He leaned forward to brush his hand against Luke's forehead. It was barely warm.

"Han," Luke croaked, struggling to sit up. "He's here."

Solo frowned in confusion. "What…?"

The kid pushed to a sitting position, swung his legs over the bed. "_Vader _is here."


	9. Chapter 9

Hi everyone - thank you for your feedback! So sorry for the chapter mixup. Hopefully everything is fixed I and I didn't leave you hanging too long. As always, I don't own anything and comments are welcome! -T.

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"_Vader _is here."

Han's blood turned to ice. He dropped his feet to the floor, straightened. How could the kid possibly think he knew that Vader was here? "That's not funny, Luke," he began, but was interrupted by the kid.

"You have a set of macrobinocs?"

"Sure, in the _Falcon." _Han was on his feet now, pacing to the window, trying to get a clear look at the sky, as if by magic he might catch a glimpse of Vader's personal shuttle descending at that very moment.

"Call Chewie, Han," Luke said, easing his legs gingerly over the side of the bed. He snagged his boots, disconnecting, but not pulling the IV. At Han's scandalized look, he said, "Just find me something to wrap this or I _am _pulling it."

With an angry sigh, Solo went to dig through a small tray for some gauze, while Luke pulled on his trousers and fastened the clasps of his tunic shirt.

"Chewie?" Han muttered into the comlink. "We need a pickup….now. Kid says Vader's here." It wasn't that he didn't believe Luke, but….he would believe it when he saw it. Dr. Padduk hadn't mentioned anything about patients being delusional with this fever, but Solo wondered if it was simply a symptom he'd neglected to mention.

A surprised roar from the Wookiee. Solo spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "_I _don't know," he snapped, eyeing Luke as the kid sagged back to the gurney, his strength apparently spent from the simple act of dressing. "Luke says check with the macrobinocs."

Another roar. Han sighed. "Sure, we'll wait." He lowered the comlink, handed the length of gauze to Luke to wrap around the IV line.

Dr. Padduk chose that moment to come in and check on his patient, and started when he saw Luke, dressed in his street clothes and wrapping his now-free arm. "What is going on here?" he demanded in a tone of someone used to having his orders obeyed. "Was I not clear enough about the dangers of the Fever? You are not out of danger yet. Where do you think you're going?"

Han opened his mouth to say something when Chewie's tinny voice chimed in from the comlink.

There was a ship in the Cattairn system, all right. And it looked like a Star Destroyer.

"Chewie, bring the ship around," Han ordered sharply, ignoring the medic's protests as Luke pulled on his boots. "There is a large clearing behind the medcenter."

He shut off the comlink and came face-to-face with Padduk. "I hope you know what you're doing," the medic said softly. He glanced from Han to Luke. "Dack isn't your real name, is it?"

Luke grimaced. "Dr. Padduk, thank you for helping me. I…" he trailed off. "The less you know at this point, the better."

The other man laughed humorlessly. "The less I know?" He repeated. "The less I know that your name is really Luke Skywalker, being personally hunted by Darth Vader, with an astronomical price on your head?"

Han froze, his hand instinctively going for his holstered blaster. Padduk _had _known, all this time. Was he the one who had tipped Vader off to Luke's location? But no, that still wouldn't explain Luke's insistence days ago that Vader had been on his way, or how the kid knew Vader had arrived when he had.

Luke, still slumped on the bed, only cringed. "Is it that obvious?" he asked plaintively. The kid looked trapped, resigned. If the doctor wanted to turn him over to Vader at this point, there would be little he could do about it in his present state.

They each remained there, frozen in place. Han considered their possible escape route if they had to fight their way out. Luke, in his current condition, would be a liability. Though Solo had seen the kid in action, even when he hadn't been one-hundred percent, he couldn't imagine he'd be much help at the moment. The window was big enough they could break it and make a run for the clearing. Chewie was probably five or ten minutes away from landing the ship within two-hundred feet of the medcenter. The only other question would be if Luke was capable of walking - or running - that far.

Finally, Luke asked quietly, his eyes wide with fear and agitation. "Will you turn us in?"

"Turn you in?" Padduk repeated. "To Darth Vader?" He shook his head, a dark frown coloring his features. "I make a point to never capitalize on the misfortunes of others." He paused. "Even for that much money."

Han arched his eyebrows. The doctor was turning out to be a nobler person that he'd given him credit for.

"Still," Padduk went on, "in the interest of my own self-preservation…."

Han raised his blaster, thumbed its setting to _stun._ "Best to have an alibi?" He finished for him.

Padduk shrugged, a sardonic smile coming to his face. "It occurred to me. It's probably best if it doesn't look like I simply let you go." His eyes darted to a cupboard in the corner of the room. "Before you pull the trigger, you should know that there are saline bags and doses of anti-viral in that locker. Take them. Keep the fluids going for the next few days."

Luke nodded in understanding, pushing back up to a sitting position, his expression awash in relief. "Thank you."

Padduk leveled his gaze at Han, nodded once. Solo braced himself and fired.

A blue stun bolt felled the doctor where he stood, dropping him silently to the floor. Solo knelt to check on him, and once satisfied that he appeared uninjured, turned to the cupboard Padduk had indicated. Sure enough, there were the items the doctor had said it would contain. He gathered an armload of saline pouches, two ampoules of the anti-viral, and extra tubing, stuffed them in his small knapsack.

His comlink trilled. Han thumbed it on. "Chewie - are ya here?"

A bark from the Wookiee. He was approaching landing.

Solo nodded shortly. "We're on our way out." He turned to face Luke, who was getting his feet under him again. "You ready, kid?"

Luke nodded. "Let's get out of here."

They encountered no resistance getting out of the building. Luke, dressed in his regular clothes, didn't scream _escaping patient _with his appearance, so they walked as casually as possible, to avoid attracting attention and to make sure Luke could keep up.

Once out of the back exit of the building, a gust of wind picking up and ruffling his hair, Han could see the shadow of the landing _Falcon _across the long grasses, flattening in the wind. "There he is," he muttered to Luke. The kid nodded once and gingerly set forward.

As they waded through the meadowgrass, Han risked a glance at the sky. Bright sun and blue sky eclipsed any possible view he might have of the Star Destroyer Chewie spotted. Hopefully they could keep it that way for a few more minutes.

That hope was dashed a moment later, when, He and Luke, completely out in the open, doing an awkward hobble to the waiting _Falcon,_ heard the familiar screech of oncoming TIE fighters.

"Han - down!" Luke cried suddenly, flattening into the tall yellow grass, pulling the Corellian hard down with him. At that moment strafing laser fire flew over their heads, followed by two black shadows - TIEs screeching past. Han gaped after them, even after he was gaining his feet again to run. _Why are they firing? _He thought wildly. _They want the kid _alive!

Caution was now out the window. The _Falcon _was a hundred feet away, its ramp lowering to the grass. Chewie's voice barked panic through the comlink. They were, no question, _running. _Even still, as he pulled Luke to his feet, and Han could see and hear the TIEs coming around for another shot, the pieces slid into place. The TIEs weren't gunning for _them, _but for the ship. The _Falcon _was their only means of escape. Without it, Vader would have them for sure. "Chewie," he snapped into the comlink, his breath ragged, his other hand firmly around Luke's upper arm, pulling him along. "Fire the turbocannons. Here they come - all power to the shields!"

Laser fire blazed overhead, but this time Han kept running, the rippling ribbon of the attacking ships' shadow momentarily eclipsing the sun as they flew past.

"Come on, kid," Solo grunted encouragement through his wheezing breathing. "We're almost there."

The ramp loomed, closer. "Almost there!" Han shouted again. Then, as the ships rounded on their third pass, he and Luke ducked under the safety of the ship's overhang. Laser cannon fire shook the _Falcon_.

"Go!" Solo screamed, giving Luke a final shove up the ramp, before letting go and tearing to the cockpit. He scrambled for his balance as the ship was already rising from the ground, lilting to the left. Another shudder as the ship took another hit. _Hear me baby, hold together._

He made it to the cockpit, crashing into the pilot's seat. Ahead, they were gunning for deep space, a flurry of TIE fighters spewing toward them like insects. He could make out the shape of the Star Destroyer now. "Stay close to the surface, distract their instruments," he barked to Chewie. "How soon till we plot our course?"

The wookiee growled in response, that they would need to be in position for coordinates.

"Fine, fine," Han snapped. "Just keep us as far away from that Star Destroyer as possible, huh?"

A sound from behind him he knew was Luke, dropping into the seat back of Chewie. "You made it kid?" He called. "I think we're going to need a gunner."

He spared a sidelong glance at his friend. Luke's face was covered with a sheen of perspiration, his features gray, his chest still heaving from the sprint to the ship. "You don't look so good."

Chewie barked. He would get to the guns. He disconnected his crash-webbing and tore from the cockpit.

Han motioned for Luke to take the Wookiee's place. "Your job, kid, is to man the turret and plot us a hyperspace course as soon as we're clear, understood?"

"Got it," Luke nodded breathlessly, already punching the nav with a trembling hand, his forehead creased.

Another wave of TIEs came at them, closing in from the ones still on their tail. "Hang on," Han shouted, pulling the throttle, rocketing the ship straight up into a dizzying spin. He hoped Chewie had been holding on for that one.

"You think we can outrun them?" Luke asked tensely, eyes laser-focused on a target in his sights. He fired, exploding the nearest TIE into a ball of flame.

"Nice shot, kid," Solo crowed. Another shot from the lower gunner, which meant Chewie was in place. A second TIE exploded. Han grinned. "This old girl hasn't let us down yet!"

Luke's hands were flying over the navcomp controls, then his eyes were back up, pumping laser fire power into another TIE that got too close. It too exploded.

They were out of the atmosphere now, almost where they could make the jump, the Star Destroyer still a healthy distance out of range. Luke's fingers moved rapidly over the controls. "Almost there," he muttered.

He froze suddenly, his eyes widening like he'd seen a ghost.

"Luke?" Solo threw the ship into another spin as Chewie picked off two more TIEs. Was Vader talking to the kid or something, the way Luke had described to him back in the forest, when Han hadn't believed him?

The _Falcon _shuddered as it took a direct hit to the aft section. Han poured all power into the shields. It was a great time to be distracted by old Bucket Head. "Any second now, kid," he prodded out loud, urgency coloring his tone.

"Almost there," Luke repeated, shaking himself free, eyes back on the console. Then the signal flashed green. Luke's head snapped up. "Go!" he shouted.

Han took the hyperspace controls, pulled back. The stars streaked to white lines, the inertia pulling them all back in their seats.

The ship settled into hyperspace, mottled blue through the viewport. Han let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. They had made it. "That was a little too close."

Luke's eyebrows arched, and he laughed weakly. "_Way_ too close." He leaned his head back into the headrest, catching a gasping breath.

Solo eyed him. "You okay?"

Luke nodded, shutting his eyes briefly. "Yeah. Just a little…." he hesitated, maybe loathe to admit it out of professional pride... "Spacesick."

Solo mock frowned, pointing his finger at the kid. "Remember what I said about nobody messing up my ship. If you're going to be queasy on me, barf bag is over there." He pointed to the pocket near the console.

Luke nodded tiredly, unoffended, reached out and snagged one. "It's your crazy flying, Han."

"Hey Junior," Solo retorted, still leveling a finger at the younger man. "My crazy flying kept us alive. I had no idea you could lose your lunch on a flight after being grounded for a few weeks. You're still as green as a whip willow, even after a year with the Alliance."

Now Luke did look offended. "That's not fair - "

He didn't finish his sentence. Instead he lurched up, paper bag near his face, barely escaping the cockpit before he started throwing up.

Han could hear him retching in the corridor. He sighed. He should go easy on the kid. He'd been ill after all. That little run across the meadow probably hadn't helped things either.

Solo gained his feet, peering momentarily over at the navicomp, realizing belatedly that he had no idea where they were headed.

The Aurebesh letters seemed to float up on the blue background of the screen. _Dagobah._

Han glanced to the back of the cockpit where Luke had exited. "Dagobah, kid?" He asked in faint disbelief. "Something possessed you to be more adventurous than usual? Does this place even exist?"

"Like we had much choice," Luke's voice retorted weakly from the hall. Han walked into the corridor and found the kid sitting against the wall, legs splayed in front of him, a grimace on his features. "It was preprogrammed anyway, which got us out of there faster." He smiled faintly, tilting his head to one side. "You're welcome."

"Well if the computer says there's something there, there must be _something," _Han allowed, throwing another glance back in the direction of the navicomp. "I guess we'll find out what when we get there. It's only - what - four, five hours?"

"Yeah," Luke nodded, crumpling the paper bag shut with his fist with a look of chagrin in its direction, wiping the back of his sleeve across his mouth.

Solo offered him a hand up. "It's okay, kid. I was just teasing you." He smiled, trying to ease the kid's embarrassment. Maybe he should go easy on the ribbing, stop giving Luke such a hard time about his relative inexperience. The kid clearly had skills, if not the years and cynicism to back it up. "Space sickness can happen to the best of us."

Only as he pulled the younger man to his feet, did he see - smeared across Luke's sleeve and staining the edge of the crumpled paper bag in Luke's fist, startlingly bright red, like someone had flung a brush full of paint.

All the blood.


	10. Chapter 10

Since this is an AU story, I will warn you right now that I reserve the right to kill off any main characters at a whim - wherever the plot of this story takes me. Because I'm still not sure how this will end. Buckle up for the ride. Also, if you don't like blood, read the next chapter cautiously. Thanks for all the reviews! -T.

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Darth Vader swept into the small hospital room, flanked by two of his officers, tense in the silence. The room was lined with four stormtroopers, standing with weapons ready, blank polished gazes staring straight ahead; a disheveled middle-aged man seated on a chair between them, eyes bloodshot, face set in a stern expression, clothes rumpled.

"You are the doctor?" Vader rumbled, all pretenses aside. The man's steely gray eyes met Vader's obsidian mask. He did not flinch.

"I am."

"What is your name?"

The man's face remained impassive. "Dr. Vincint Padduk, sir."

"Did you have any indication of the identity of your patient?"

The man pursed his lips. "Not at first," he answered warily. "But I eventually pieced it together, right about the time he escaped."

"Escaped how?" Vader demanded, impatient. His son had been almost within his grasp. He had been _so_ close. That bright flare of his Force presence felt like a supernova from this proximity when the star destroyer entered the system.

But now the _Millennium Falcon _had escaped to light-speed, that light had dimmed to a diffuse echo, indistinct and untrackable. Heads would roll for this, there was no question. He had only to find out the identity of the responsible party.

Padduk didn't flinch, but a muscle in his cheek twitched. "His accomplice - I believe Skywalker called him _Han - _broke him out. I tried to stop him. The patient was in no condition to leave the medical center, but the other man stunned me."

Vader considered. "You were unarmed at the time."

"I was."

The dark lord dropped his gaze from the doctor in the chair and clasped his gloved hands behind his back. "Why was Skywalker being treated in your medical center?"

"Gort Fever," Padduk answered, his tone taking on a new level of confidence in speaking on a topic of his field of expertise. "A very serious viral hemorrhagic fever. His friend brought him here. At first it was not clear Skywalker would survive the night."

Vader turned to the doctor again. "You treated him." It was not a question.

Padduk nodded slowly. "Yes, sir."

The dark lord thought again of his son, of the strange disturbing sense he had gotten from him down on the planet, distracted and in pain. That same sense, albeit dimmer, bothered him now, though he did not know why. Was the boy out of danger or still ill? The TIE fighter pilots he'd interrogated had both stated emphatically that they'd seen Solo and Skywalker running to the _Millennium Falcon, _which would indicate the boy was in improved health.

"You saved his life." Again, it was not a question.

Padduk nodded once. "He likely would have died in the night without medical aid."

The hiss of Vader's vocoder was the only sound in the room for several moments before he turned on Padduk again. "Would you say Skywalker is now out of danger from this fever?" He asked.

Padduk frowned, seemingly confused by the line of questioning. Perhaps he wondered why the dark lord would care. "I don't know," he said honestly. "If it were my recommendation, he should not have left the medcenter. Sometimes patients continue to recover, sometimes they relapse within a few days. The mortality rate is usually very high."

Vader stared at Padduk a long moment. The boy was still in danger, then. If the Force was willing, his son would be one of the ones strong enough to pull through the illness. If Vader had anything to do with it, he would find the boy before it was too late, though now the trail had grown cold.

He clenched a fist again. The pilots of the TIE squadron he had sent down to destroy the _Millennium Falcon_ before his son had a chance to board had already been executed for their failure.

He turned to leave the room, indicating to one of his officers. Padduk had attempted to save his son's life. Vader, in turn would release him. "This man is to go free."

There was an audible sigh of relief from the man behind him.

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Luke drifted. He was lying on the curved narrow bench in the galley, half asleep, half-awake, his ears tuned to the sounds of Han and Chewie bustling through the ship. It would probably be more comfortable in the bunkroom, but he didn't want to go in there, lie in the dark. In truth, he hadn't wanted to be alone, had curled up in the corner, knees to chest, the blanket Han had given him still clutched around his shoulders - since he was cold - and leaned his head back to the bulkhead.

Han had urged him to lie down on the bunk instead, mumbling something about a rough day and how he still shouldn't be up yet. But there was something in his eyes. And in his sense in the Force. Luke felt like his friend was keeping something back. When he'd asked outright, Solo had evaded, changed the subject. If Luke weren't so tired, he would have pressed for information, but it was too much effort, so he curled into the bench, eventually sliding down to lie on his side and let his eyes slip closed.

He felt almost afraid to do this. Darth Vader's black death mask floated up into his vision, and Luke felt those blank polished eyes bore holes into his. _Tell me where you are, my son and I will find you._

Luke slammed barriers down, his breath hitching.

A soft growl from Chewie and Luke's eyes flew open again, the death mask disappearing, the bass voice dying down to a whisper he could ignore. The wookiee set a metal bowl on the floor next to him, clean and freshly washed.

Luke felt the heat of embarrassment rise to his face again. He didn't need anyone to clean up after him - that had been above and beyond the call of duty. He wanted to say something, but could think of nothing, could not muster the strength to offer a reassuring smile. He just blinked at the wookiee, who patted him on the shoulder with a heavy paw.

Luke gazed after Chewbacca as he departed. His fever was returning. That's what Han had said in a concerned voice before trying to hook up the saline and inject another anti-viral. Luke didn't know if the medicine was helping or not. His whole body ached, so much so, that it was hard to exactly pinpoint the nausea and sharp pain beneath his ribs that felt new. After he'd thrown up, Han made him tell him where he hurt, which wasn't anywhere specific, really, and had raided the medkit for more ampoules of pain meds.

Now Luke didn't really hurt anywhere at all, except when his stomach was spasming miserably when he was vomiting into that damn bowl. The amount of bright red blood that came up was startling. A small part of Luke's mind told him he should probably worry about this new development, but his brain felt addled, and he was oh-so-tired. It was easier not to think about it. Maybe that was a side-effect of the pain medicine, he didn't know.

He shivered and pulled the blanket tighter around him. Against his better judgement, he let his eyes close again, prepared to stare into those obsidian eyes again. But instead he drifted into silent darkness.

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Vader sat in his meditation chamber aboard the _Executor. _He'd left strict instructions that he was not to be disturbed under any circumstances. He sat in the brittle silence, his eyes closed, casting his mind out to his son.

_Luke._

He had an impression of a ship, of voices speaking in low tones, of alarmed companions and the boy's feverish pain, before suddenly the connection broke, as if struck down; the boy using the last of his addled strength to block his father, to retreat the darkness and hide.

_Tell me where you are._

But he was met with a wall of silence.

Vader clenched his gauntleted fist in a wave of helpless rage. It was not a familiar feeling, nor a welcome one. The boy would apparently be pig-headed and stubborn enough to hide from his father, even when he clearly needed medical treatment, and knew full-well the Empire possessed the most advanced facilities available. Instead, the child would run away in a sorry excuse for a ship with his smuggler friend, putting his own life at unnecessary risk simply because of...what? His pride? His fear?

A slow creeping agitation wormed it way under the dark lord's shields as he continued to cast out for Luke's presence and found it more distant, fading.

Was it possible, as the doctor on Cattairn had said, that the boy's illness would kill him? Would that explain the strange sense of translucency that seemed to accompany the boy's indistinct presence?

Once again, the cold sense of helpless, possessive fury descended on Darth Vader. How could it be that he had come so close to having the boy in his possession, to this - possibly losing him forever, like sand slipping through his fingers?

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They were little more than an hour out from realspace. Solo sat next to Luke on the bench, patting his shoulder as the kid coughed violently, shaking against the force of the effort, a spray of crimson splattering across the front of his tunic. When the kid finally sagged back, like a marionette whose strings had been snapped, face pressed against the plastene seat, his glassy blue eyes met Solo's, but he didn't speak.

Neither did Han as he carefully took the damp cloth in his hand and dabbed the blood from Luke's face. His skin felt alarmingly hot to the touch again.

Solo reached out for the glass of water on the Dejarik table, held the straw to Luke's lips. The kid took a small sip, sagged back and shut his eyes.

Han replaced the glass, leaned his own head tiredly back against the wall. The Princess had sent a message-a short list of safe places with Medcenters. All were at least a 3-day hyperspace jump. Too far to be any good, if they could even help the kid once they got there. Padduk had said once the vomiting started, there wasn't much time left.

He wondered to himself how he would break the news of the kid's death to Leia. A two-line message seemed cruel and empty, even for the emotionally detached smuggler he claimed to be. But who was he kidding anymore? Han was no longer emotionally detached.

Next to him, Luke choked another cough. Han straightened, snagged the bowl on the floor, held it up for the kid. Luke half-turned, vomited, spitting blood into the bowl, his body shuddering. Han patted Luke's back with his free hand, muttering, "it's okay, you're okay," set the bowl back on the floor with a grimace once Luke had finished.

"Chewie?" he called into the sudden silence. The wookiee appeared a minute later to fulfill his self-appointed duty of cleaning up after the kid.

It wasn't fair, really. Luke didn't deserve this. It was a really rotten way to die. It was really rotten that he had outrun the Empire and the Alliance, not to mention a couple of bounty hunters, only to be effectively felled by a 3-inch- long slug.

Han eyed the kid again. He didn't know what they'd do once they reached Dagobah. He'd asked Luke what he'd thought they'd find there, and Luke had shrugged and vaguely said something about a guy named Yoda.

Not that any of that mattered now.

Luke was still for a spell and Han found himself drifting. He hadn't meant to sleep, but the last few days had been relentless, and suddenly the exhaustion pulled him under without his express consent. Weird half-dreams floated before his eyes, repeating images of he and Luke running across that meadow, dappled sunlight, trying to reach the _Falcon's_ ramp, only for it to move farther and farther away from them. Suddenly one of the TIEs hit their mark and the ship exploded in a ball of flame -

Solo jerked awake.

The explosion of his dream was really the sound of the proximity alarm. They were approaching Dagobah.

Quickly he glanced down at Luke, who was stirring, patted the kid's shoulder. "We're just about there," he mumbled, gaining his feet. "I'm going to take us out of hyperspace."

As he turned to go, Luke snagged his sleeve, blue eyes feverishly bright and too large on his gaunt features. "I want to come," his voice came out as a whisper Solo stained to hear.

"To the cockpit?" Han frowned, surprised.

Luke nodded.

Solo was shaking his head. "Kid, you - "

He broke off. Luke was already straining to sit up. Han swore softly to himself. "Chewie!" He shouted, catching Luke's shoulders as the young man curled forward, boosting him to a semi-sitting position. "Take us out of hyperspace."

An affirmative roar from the wookiee.

Han surveyed the kid. "Can you stand?" he asked doubtfully, wondering exactly how they were going to make it all the way to the cockpit.

Luke just nodded again, fumbling with the blanket, dropping his feet to the floor.

The rapid deceleration of the ship coming out of hyperspace nearly knocked them both to the deck, but Han caught his balance, caught Luke. "Come on, kid," he grunted, throwing Luke's arm over his shoulder.

He pulled the kid to his feet, Luke's head falling against Han's shoulder, breath hot against his neck.

They tottered forward, shuffled a few unsteady steps forward. Luke started to cough.

Solo cursed, let go of Luke, and stepped back to snag the bowl. Luke weaved precariously, Solo catching his arm before he fell. "I've got ya."

"Unngh," Luke grunted, before a hitch in his breathing and he started to choke. Han didn't look at the blood, just grabbed the back of Luke's head and leaned him to the bowl, holding the shaking young man upright as he gagged.

A distressed growl from Chewie down the corridor, and suddenly the wookiee was there, scooping Luke into his arms.

"He wants to see it," Han told him, nodding to the cockpit.

Chewie barked back. There was not much to see - just an ordinary planet devoid of civilization, but teeming with life.

Han sighed. "Wonderful. Our favorite kind of tourist trap."

He followed the wookiee down the corridor. They entered the cockpit, Chewie propping Luke gingerly in the co-pilot's seat.

"Well, there it is," Han murmured, nonplussed. "Dagobah."

Luke fixed bright, glassy eyes on the scene before him, the blue planet and cotton cloud cover. His lips moved soundlessly.

Han took the controls, brought the ship in. "You're in charge, kid," he told Luke. "Tell us where to find this Yoda."

He felt the kid's eyes on him, turned to meet Luke's gaze. Now the younger man's nose was bleeding, a smear of dark blood running down his lip. Luke turned his gaze back to the viewport, forehead creased with concentration. "The bigger continent," he whispered. "The southern peninsula."

Han brought the ship down, through the layers of cloud cover.

"Okay…." He began, his instruments clamoring for attention. Now they were flying over trees, large bogs, just one giant sea of swampy green. "Where do we land?"

Luke's gaze was fixed on the viewport. "Up ahead," he gestured, wiping at the nosebleed with the back of his hand, smearing the blood garishly across his face, choking back another cough.

The topography seemed mostly flat, with large rolling hills in the distance. Now the cloud cover became thick enough that Han could no longer see reliably, slowing their pace to a near-crawl, his eyes dependent upon his instruments.

"There," Luke's whispered voice took on a new urgency, even as he began to cough again. "Set down here."

"Here?" Solo echoed, eyeing his scopes frantically for an indication of suitable terrain. His visibility was at near-zero at this point.

"Yes," Luke choked out, curling forward with a grimace, coughing again.

Han's eyes flashed to the kid, but he kept his hands on the controls. "You okay?" He asked, for lack of anything better to say. Luke looked like he was in pain. The ampoule of painkiller Solo had last dosed him with should be good for a few more hours. In any case, he couldn't give him another dose for a while.

Luke didn't answer, head down, his white knuckles gripping two fistfuls of crash webbing. He nodded feebly, his breathing shallow.

"Okay, well hang on." The _Falcon_ swept in, a soup of thick clouds whiting out all visibility. Chewie rumbled a question, but Han didn't answer. His hands gripped the controls.

Suddenly his instrumentation went haywire.

Everything on his screens went blank. He struck the console with his fist, which sometimes worked to bring the _Falcon's _sometimes temperamental programs back online, but nothing happened. "I've lost all instruments!" He cried in surprise. They were flying blind.

Luke glanced up sharply, his eyes on Han. Chewie rumbled in alarm, lurching to his feet and swatting at several controls overhead. Nothing happened.

A numbing sense of panic crept under Han's collarbone. Without his scopes or vicinity markers, with no visibility, they were going to crash if they tried to land. "Sorry, kid, we can't land like this," he grunted, pulling up on the stick to take the ship further into the atmosphere.

Only nothing happened.

They were still going down.

Solo pulled up again on the stick, that sense of alarm under his collarbone blossoming into full dread as the ship began its infinitesimal shift toward the planet. Chewie howled.

"It's no good," Solo ground out tightly, still wrestling with the controls. Nothing was working. His eyes darted to the two other passengers. "Strap in tight - this is not going to be pretty."

"Han," Luke said sharply, still grimacing as he straightened from his hunched position in the copilot's seat, lifting his eyes to his friend. "I can land the ship."

Solo hadn't meant the scoffing laugh to come out of his mouth the way it did. He hadn't meant to hurt the kid. It was just the ludicrousness of the situation, with the ship, and Luke…. "This is not the time for delusions of grandeur, kid," he snapped, pulling up on the stick again. The ship responded slightly, leveling out for a moment.

"It's not delusions - " Luke broke off with another hacking cough, wiping his sleeve across his mouth. "I can land the ship."

Han reappraised the younger man. Luke seemed to grow taller in his seat, his eyes steely with determination, his face streaked with dried blood, as if he'd been in a bar fight.

It wasn't like any of them were going to survive this less worse for wear if Solo piloted. Fine. If flying the ship was the kid's dying wish, what did it matter to Solo?

"Okay, kid," he growled out loud. "Take over."

Luke sprang into action, his speed belying his fragile appearance. His hands flew over the controls, flipped half a dozen switches. They were still careening at a sharp angle toward the planet's surface. Then suddenly the kid had the gall to _close his eyes._

Han opened his mouth to protest, but remembered it was a distinct possibility they were all going to die anyway, and besides the scopes were dead, so what did it matter if Luke flew with his eyes opened or closed?

Then he felt it - the ship beginning to level out.

Solo felt his jaw drop, his gaze flitting to the instrument panel - still dead - and back to Luke. He didn't speak, didn't dare break Luke's concentration over whatever he was doing - and the way the kid's features were strained, this was taking a lot - just gripped the edge of the console with bloodless fingers.

He could feel the _Falcon_ slowing. Luke's hand slapped at the landing gear and Solo could hear the struts engage.

The thick clouds in front of them cleared for just a moment and Han could see the approaching boggy ground.

With nothing more than a gentle thump, they landed.

Chewie roared his relief. A disbelieving grin on his face, Solo went to slap the kid on the shoulder. Luke's eyes cracked open, a hesitant smile coming to his features.

"That was incredible, kid," Han crowed.

Luke swallowed, nodded, choked back another cough.

Solo gained his feet and offered a hand up to Luke. "Think you can stand up? We'll go check this place out."

Luke nodded again, undoing the crash webbing and pushing himself up from the console with trembling arms. Han caught his upper arm and pulled him to his feet, Luke leaning most of his weight on Han to stay upright.

"You okay, or do you want to wait it out on the ship while me and Chewie go?" Solo asked as they shuffled forward, Chewie ducking out of the cockpit ahead of them.

Luke shook his head. "I want to come," he said tightly. "I have to see Yo - "

He broke off in an explosion of coughing, doubling over with such suddenness that Solo nearly let him drop to the deck. This time the blood was no mere splatter on the boy's tunic. It was everywhere. For once Solo didn't care if the kid messed up his ship. His eyes were on Luke, crumpling weakly to kneel on the floor, his shoulders shuddering in an attempt to gasp for air.

"Chewie!" Solo snapped, his heart clenching as he dropped to Luke's side. "A little help here!"

The wookiee was there in an instant, the forgotten basin in his hands, hairy paws padding at the kid, knelt to Luke's other side as the young man kept coughing and vomiting.

Ham swallowed nervously. That was a _lot_ of blood. He didn't want the kid to die - bleed out right here in the cockpit - before he had a chance to meet this Yoda of his. He didn't want the kid to die, period. _I guess we don't always get what we want._

After a few minutes, the spell subsided. Han carefully eased Luke down to lie on his back. The kid's eyes were tightly shut, a grimace of pain on his features, arms clenched rigidly over his stomach. Chewie procured a rag or a cloth from somewhere, mopping uselessly at the blood on Luke's tunic. Luke's breathing was a harsh rasp in the silence. The kid raised a bloody fist to grasp Han's sleeve, pull the Correllian weakly down to whisper something.

Solo shook his head. "I - I can't understand, kid. What?"

His voice was a ragged whisper. "He's here."

Han shook his head again, not understanding, wondering for a panicked moment if they were talking about Vader again. "Who's here?"

"Yoda. Outside...the ship."

Wondering how in the stars Luke could possibly know that, Han frowned, gaze darting to Chewie. The wookiee growled something about going to see, and gained his feet.

Han and Luke sat in silence, Han patting the kid's hair in a useless gesture of comfort. Luke's skin felt uncomfortably hot to the touch. "I…." he tried to think of the right thing to say. "This is a lousy way to go, kid," he choked. His eyes stung. Damn, he would _not _cry.

Luke's glassy blue eyes met Han's. His face was streaked with tears of pain and still more bright red blood. Solo knew the kid understood what he was trying to say.

Stars, this was going to kill the Princess.

"'s okay, Han," Luke whispered. His eyes were fluttering, like he was fighting to keep them open, to stay awake and aware. In the distance, down the corridor, Solo heard the growl of the wookiee. Someone was with him.

A rhythmic tapping on the deckplates, and a strange voice, twisted syntax.

Han turned to regard the newcomer, realizing even sitting, he was eye-level with a strange green elfin creature, pointy ears and gray wisps of hair on his wrinkled head. A three-clawed hand grasped a small, gnarled cane.

On the floor at Han's side, Luke's eyes snapped open and he struggled to lift his head, to regard the small creature, his mouth forming words soundlessly.

The creature regarded Luke - collapsed amidst the carnage in the cockpit, his face paper-white, blood everywhere - and its face eased into an expression of compassion.

"Hello Young Skywalker. Been expecting you, I have."

"Yoda," Luke whispered. Then his eyes did drift close, his head sinking back down to the deckplates, the breath going out of him in a long, final sigh.


	11. Chapter 11

This chapter is kind of short, but here you go. Comments and reviews are welcome. -T.

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"Luke," Han mumbled frantically, hands going to kid's neck, fumbling for a pulse. Chewie howled in distress.

The elfin creature, Yoda, stepped forward, leaning carefully on his cane. "Sick the boy is," he observed quietly.

Han wanted to snap something about stating the obvious, but he was too busy searching for some sign that Luke was still hanging on, still alive.

"I can't find a pulse," he snapped, to himself, to Chewie, to no one. A familiar feeling of helpless rage was building under his collar bone. _This _was why he should have kept his distance from the kid, the Princess and the entire Rebellion from the beginning. He had vowed once never to put himself in the position to feel this kind of pain again.

Chewie howled in anguish, still standing behind Yoda, then stepping over the small creature to kneel at Luke's side, lifting the boy from the deck, enclosing Luke's slack form in his large, hairy arms and clutching him close to his body, his howl of grief deafening in Han's ears.

Yoda stepped forward, the click of the cane against the deck. He waited until the wookiee eased the young man back to the deck, then he reached carefully with a clawed hand to Luke's forehead. The creature closed his eyes.

Han watched warily. It appeared as if nothing was happening. Chewie was watching too. At this point, Han had seen enough Jedi parlor tricks to at least understand that possibly this Yoda could attempt _something, _though to bring someone back from the brink of death seemed a little far-fetched, even for Jedi.

After long moments, everyone's eyes on Luke, the kid suddenly hitched a sharp breath, gasped for air with another cough. His eyes remained shut, and he didn't move further. But Han realized with a flood of relief that the kid was breathing now. He exchanged a glance with Chewie, eyed the green creature again. Yoda's eyes were still closed, his hand still resting on Luke's forehead.

They remained like that for several long minutes, the elfin Jedi very still, Luke even stiller.

Han and Chewie sat frozen, as if any movement might disturb whatever magic trick Yoda was working. After some time, Solo started to feel his legs go numb. He shifted cautiously, eyes locked on Luke and Yoda.

It was long minutes before the small Jedi opened his eyes, stepped back away from Luke, his hand dropping to his side.

"Take some time, this will," he told Han, his green ears twitching, eyes still on Luke. "Be patient, we must."

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It certainly took time.

Cautiously hopeful, but not at all sure what to expect, Han tried to keep from pacing.

Luke was lying again in the bunkroom, under a blanket, pale, eyes closed, still as death. They'd cleaned him up, made him as comfortable as they knew how. Yoda had kept vigil, standing near the boy, hand on his forehead, himself unmoving for hours at a time. When he was not there - and even when he was - Han and Chewie kept their own vigil, sitting next to Luke on a small packing crate next to his bunk, taking shifts so the other could sleep. It appeared that nothing was happening. What Han _could_ tell was that Luke was still breathing, and that he hadn't vomited or even coughed once since Yoda had arrived. That first night Han had sat next to Luke's bunk through the night, he had noticed the fever had broken.

He had no idea how to explain any of this, so he just rolled with the events as they came through: He and Chewie scrubbing down the ship, offering a dehydrated meal to Yoda, who had crinkled his nose and politely declined; trying to make small-talk with Yoda, which had felt like pulling teeth; making another small repair to the hyperdrive and one to the landers. But mostly they waited.

And three days later, early in the morning, when Han was about to swap shifts with Chewie, and Yoda had gone home - wherever that was, Solo didn't know - to rest, Luke stirred. Han, who had been nodding off, abruptly straightened, wide awake.

"Kid?"

Luke groaned, bringing a hand to his face, then dropping it weakly back to his chest.

"Luke - you okay?" Han asked again, edging the crate closer to his friend. Luke's eyes were still closed, but he was breathing deeper; he swallowed.

Blue eyes flew open, staring up at the upper bunk for a moment, then, another long blink and he was staring at Solo.

"Han?"

"You're okay, kid?" Solo's hand flew to Luke's forehead, testing his temperature. It felt perfectly normal. "You hurt anywhere?"

Luke frowned. "I… no." His voice croaked with disuse. "No. I feel okay."

A cautious smile was creeping up on the Correllian now. "You want to sit up?"

Hesitantly Luke nodded. Carefully, Han eased the younger man into a sitting position, keeping his hand near in case the kid suddenly toppled. But his color was better, Han noticed, his eyes no longer glassy.

Luke cleared his throat experimentally. "I'm starving."

Han let out a short laugh of relief. "Really, kid? Cause that's the best news I've heard all day. Do you want to come to the food or should the food come to you?"

Luke gingerly shifted his feet to the floor, tested his weight experimentally. "I think I can walk."

"Okay." Solo pulled Luke carefully to his feet, kept his hand at the kid's elbow as Luke stood for a moment, getting his bearings. "Still okay?"

Luke nodded, swallowing. "Yeah."

They shuffled slowly to the galley, half-lit and powered down for the night. "Good thing your ship's not that big," Luke quipped hoarsely. "Not as far to walk."

"Hey," Solo adopted an offended expression. "Don't knock the ship. She's gotten us out of too many scrapes."

Luke smiled, sank down to the bench at the holochess table. Han opened a cupboard, pulled a package of broth cubes. The kid hadn't eaten in several days - probably best to go easy at first. He poured water into the small heating pot, pressed the button, turned back to Luke.

"I - " Luke hesitated. "I'm kind of out of it, but are we…on Dagobah?"

Han gave his friend a patient smile. "Yeah, kid. Don't you remember landing the ship? Meeting Yoda?"

Luke frowned. "I wasn't sure if that wasn't a dream."

The water pot beeped to signify it was ready and Solo added the broth cubes and poured it into a small mug, handed it to Luke.

"Not a dream, kid. Whoever he is, Yoda saved your life."

Luke's eyebrows arched, at the broth or at Han's words, Solo couldn't tell. The smuggler plowed on anyway. "He's been here for a couple days, working his Force magic. He called it a 'healing trance'. Whatever it was, it worked. 'Cause according to that doc on Cattairn, you should be dead by now."

Luke didn't answer, just stared into his cup, probably taking it all in. It _was _a lot to take in, Han had to admit. He was still trying to figure it all out himself.

"How long has it been?" Luke asked quietly, finally lifting the steaming mug to blow on the hot liquid, take a careful sip.

Solo shrugged. Time seemed to bleed together. They hadn't been out of the ship much - nothing but a giant swamp out there - and even when they had, the constant cloud-cover and drizzly rain seemed to blend night and day into one soggy twilight. It was easy to lose track of time. "I don't know - three, four days."

Luke set his mug back down, considered, belatedly glanced around. "Where is Yoda now?"

Han sat down across from him at the table, hooked his thumb back the direction of the _Falcon's_ ramp. "He was here a long while, but finally went home, I guess to rest. Whatever he did to help you probably took a lot out of him."

Luke nodded, an odd expression in his eyes, as he took another sip of broth.

Han waited. After a moment of silence, he shifted. "What're you thinking, kid?"

Luke's eyes flashed to Han and back to stare into his mug. Finally, after taking a long swallow, he set the cup down on the table. "So, I guess," he hesitated. "_Yoda_ doesn't want to kill me."

Solo shook his head, not sure whether to laugh or frown. "No kid - he just spent four days saving your life. He's on your side."

Luke nodded again, though his expression didn't change. Then he seemed to wake up to the fact that he was drinking broth, frowned at the mug again. "Don't we have any solid food around here, or did Chewie eat it all?"

Now Han arched his eyebrows. "Go easy, Junior. You just woke up."

"And I'm hungry," Luke insisted stubbornly. "Got any creamed tapeeka?"

"What, do you think this is a four-star restaurant on Coruscant?" Solo retorted.

"I know I saw some packets in the stuff we got on Terrenia."

Han made a gagging gesture. "Who eats creamed tapeeka? I was about to throw those away."

Luke frowned. "I like it," he answered. "My aunt Beru used to make it for special occasions."

"Fine," Solo ground out, getting to his feet again. "I'll make it for you." He leveled a finger at the kid. "_Only_ because it's your first day back from being sick. After this, my job as kitchen help is over, understood?"

Luke brought his mug up again, but it only partially hid his smile.


	12. Chapter 12

Luke met Yoda later that morning. He had walked carefully down the _Falcon's _ramp, testing his legs - which still felt like Karmoon jellyfish - took a cautious step onto the boggy ground and a careful breath of fetid, swampy air.

The ground felt springy, covered in a bright green moss and dead leaves. All around him were twisted, gnarled trees, their knobby branches wending to the sky, draped with long streamers of moss. The mist was thick enough that he couldn't see more than forty feet in front of him. But he could hear the myriad sounds of animal life, could see a thick snake not five feet from the end of the ramp slithering blithely around a dead branch.

"Good to see you improved and on your feet, it is," a chirpy voice announced, nearly at his elbow.

Luke almost jumped, distracted as he had been over the sight of this new planet, reaching automatically to his belt for a blaster that wasn't there. His eyes flew to the source of the voice - a small green creature, exactly as he'd remembered from his "dream".

"Yoda," he whispered.

The elfin Jedi nodded slowly, walked towards the ramp. "Welcome, young Skywalker. Come here for your Jedi training you have."

Luke wasn't sure how to answer that. Was it even a question? "I…" he fumbled. "Ben told me to come here."

He brought the heel of his hand to his forehead, to rub away the mental fog that still lingered after days of being completely out of it. "I don't even know what I'm…" he trailed off with a helpless shrug. "_What_ I should be doing at this point."

"Wish to train as a Jedi, to defeat Darth Vader and Palpatine, do you?" Yoda asked, frowning.

A surprising flare of anger heated Luke's stomach. "No," he blurted, his answer surprising even himself. "No, that's not why. I wanted to become a Jedi like -" he broke off, afraid the catch in his voice would be telling.

_Like my father_.

Yoda's eyes widened. "Your father?" He echoed as though Luke had spoken the words out loud. "Ah yes, powerful Jedi was he. Powerful Jedi."

Luke's eyes narrowed suspiciously. Was everyone going to lie to him? Surely Yoda knew the truth as well as any of them.

_Everyone knew but me, the idiot dreamer, _he thought caustically, moving to sit down carefully on the edge of the ramp to save his limited energy. _The only one kept in the dark._

"Sure," he mumbled, unable to keep the bitterness from coloring his tone. "I bet he was."

He felt Yoda's eyes on him, felt the scrutiny of the old Jedi's gaze. Maybe he was creating a bad impression on the elfin Jedi master. At the moment he hardly cared.

"Much anger in you, you have." It wasn't a question.

Luke felt a muscle in his cheek twitch. Yes, he was angry. So very, very angry. "I don't even know who I am anymore," he said tightly. "Just a pawn in everyone else's game. The facts I thought I knew are lies…. The friends I thought I had are now my enemies."

There was a long silence. Luke wondered idly if Yoda would walk away with a sad shake of his head, declare him a lost cause, a waste of talent, a traitor to the Jedi

mission.

"Why are you here?" Yoda asked finally, the question sounding genuinely curious rather than accusatory. The old Jedi moved to the edge of the ramp, leaning on his walking stick as he moved to sit, opposite Luke.

Luke shook his head, feeling for a moment the anger dissipate and the sting of tears behind his eyes. He swallowed back the lump in his throat, shook his head again, helplessly. "Ben told me to come. I didn't..._want _to listen to him."

_He lied to me._

He gazed steadily at the ground now. "We had nowhere else to go."

Yoda nodded thoughtfully. Luke wondered if Han had told him how they'd barely evaded capture by Vader's forces, how they'd fled across that open field, strafing laser fire over their heads. Luke belatedly remembered what Han had told him, that the elfin Jedi had saved his life. Aunt Beru would have given him a stern and disappointed talking-to over his poor manners.

"I…" he began, hesitantly. "Thank you for your help. For saving my life."

Yoda nodded once, tilted his head slightly to one side, the compassion evident in his posture. "Long journey to arrive at this point, you have had, young Luke."

Luke blinked at the well of tears that swamped his eyes again, at the surprising tone of kindness in Yoda's voice. He _had_ been through a lot in the short year since he'd left Tattooine. But he hadn't allowed himself to dwell too much on any of it. It was easier to do as long as he kept moving. The Alliance offered ample opportunity to drown his feelings in the busyness and adrenaline of simply trying to stay alive. Besides, he was far from the only one who'd had tragic circumstances. It was an unspoken agreement among his comrades on base that certain things, like one's past tragedies, were simply not discussed.

He did not like the torrent of feeling that threatened to crash over him now, like a towering wave of water. If he let it fall on him now, he would drown.

Luke pushed it down, back into its little box, where it could be safely ignored, swallowing against the lump in his throat.

Yoda nodded, almost in approval, as if Luke had passed his first test to becoming a Jedi. The old face wrinkled into a satisfied expression, both clawed hands settling firmly in the knobby top of his cane. "There is no emotion. There is the Force."

He listened, in spite of himself, wondering if Yoda quoted that to every young Jedi-hopeful who crossed his path.

"A powerful Jedi, the Galaxy needs," Yoda added quietly. "The rest, gone they are."

Luke laughed bitterly, the lump in his throat, the threat of emotion dissipating easily now with remembered anger. Is that why Yoda had saved his life? His utility to the Jedi cause?

_A pawn, _he thought darkly.

"I am not a powerful Jedi," he retorted. "I don't think I can be. I'm a liability." His hand caught a dead leaf from the muddy ground at the edge of the ramp, and he began twisting it around his fingers. "Don't _you_ know who my father is?"

Yoda gazed steadily at him; he, sitting tiredly on the ground, busy twisting the leaf to smithereens, the way all his hopes and dreams had been mutilated. The old Jedi scrunched his features, set his mouth. "Yes, I know."

Luke raised his eyes. He plowed on, winding the pliable leaf stem tighter around his finger, so it turned white, cutting off the blood supply. "Aren't you worried _Darth Vader's _son might turn out to be just like him? Then there would be two of us. What would the Jedi do then?"

"Always in motion, the future is," the diminutive Jedi master answered cryptically, his gaze still thoughtful as he studied Luke.

Yoda tapped his cane against the deck. "The Jedi Knights long have been the guardians of peace and justice in the Galaxy. A deep commitment, this is. Decide you must, young Skywalker, where your responsibilities lie. A decision only you can make, it is."

Luke didn't answer, finally letting go of the mangled leaf and letting it fall, curled in a tight spiral, to the ramp.

"But know this, you should," Yoda added, his gaze following the crumpled leaf's fall to the ground. "Trained as a Jedi or not, Vader and the Emperor will still seek you out. Try to turn you to the dark side of the Force, they will. Best to prepare, it is."

A long silence, and then the old Jedi turned, walked back the way he had apparently come, dark form disappearing into the mist.

Luke gazed after him a long time, unmoving.


	13. Chapter 13

Thank you for all the follows and the reviews! -T

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Luke was still recovering his energy, so running seemed like a bad idea. But he knew he had to get out of the ship, escape what was starting to feel like suffocating confinement.

He did so early the following morning, weaving his way through a cold, damp mist that obscured everything, padded the specters of trees into soft cotton lumps, quiet gray shadows, blurring the ground at his feet.

Luke was already more cautious than he had been before Cattairn III, the lesson learned that even the most innocuous situation could turn out to be deadly. Still, he felt no fear as his slow, but deliberate pace took him farther and farther away from the _Falcon, _losing his sight of the ship quickly in the fog.

Luke continued doggedly, for what began to feel like hours. He climbed over large twisted tree roots, rising from the ground as tall as he was, ducked under hanging moss, moved aside for more than one languidly-slithering snake and circumvented the quiet bubbling swamps. The sounds from the forest only seemed to increase as the rising morning sun burned off some of the mist, though the fog never cleared quite enough for him to actually _see _the sun.

Luke's boots squelched through green-gray mud as he came to the rolling edge of a ravine. Without hesitating, he started down the incline. It was too steep to walk it without hanging onto hand-holds. But once Luke realized he had nearly mistaken a thick green snake for a hanging vine, he decided to sit down on the muddy ground and scoot his way down instead.

He hadn't heard Darth Vader's voice since arriving on Dagobah. Luke wasn't sure if it was an effect of the planet, Yoda himself, or perhaps Vader simply had grown tired of calling to someone who studiously ignored him. He grimaced. The latter didn't seem likely.

Luke set his jaw, wiping his muddy hand against his pant leg, easing carefully down the steep hill. Hiding from Darth Vader was a definite plus in the consideration of whether or not to stay on Dagobah and train as a Jedi. If the dark lord couldn't find him here, maybe Luke could stay for months - years even - all under the guise of training.

_Coward, _a small voice inside his head chided.

He grimaced as he reached the bottom of the ravine - the fog was thicker here, the air much cooler - and straightened to continue on his determined walk.

He knew - felt it, even before Yoda had told him - that he had a responsibility as an up-and-coming Jedi knight to step into his role as protector and guardian. He wasn't sure quite what that entailed exactly, but before he'd known Darth Vader was his father, the job had sounded heroic and appealing. Now it seemed fraught with peril. What had happened to Luke's father that had turned him from Anakin Skywalker, Jedi knight and friend to Obi-wan Kenobi, to Sith lord and monster who had killed the elderly Jedi?

Was that something that could happen to him? Something that ran in his blood? Did he too possess the potential for evil, the ability to turn on his friends? The thought that he could become a monster like Vader, angry, power-seeking, willing to kill those who were closest to him, chilled him to the core.

Luke set his jaw, feeling his legs start to tire - an ache in all his bones - and the realization that he had come this far and now he was going to have to retrace the entire path back to the ship.

If he weren't to train as a Jedi, there would be no one left who _could_ stand against Vader and the Emperor. That was what Yoda had said. Luke wondered if his conscience would let him shirk that kind of responsibility for long before the guilt got the better of him. All his life he had tried to do the right thing. His aunt and uncle had taught him never to be cruel, to look out for the underdog, to be kind. He hadn't always succeeded, but he'd always meant to do right. Of course, as a kid, he was the one, more often than not, who was being bullied or picked on. Now he had an opportunity to do right by his friends, by Leia….

But if it was true what Han had said that the Alliance - the only family he had known for the past year - was hunting him down and intended to kill him simply to get back at Vader or to keep the dark lord from catching up to him, what did he owe them? He may believe in their cause, but their alienation of him wouldn't incline him to stick his neck out for them. Would it?

A fresh wave of anger swept over Luke, followed by the dull pang of loss. Of loneliness. The flood of memories from the past year, of Wedge, Hobbie, Commander Narra, Leia, General Rieekan, of his squadron; their missions together, the pranks they played on each other, the solidarity choking down the mess hall food together. It had been a camaraderie of a type Luke had never really had in his life. He craved it. He missed it now. Yes, life was uncertain. Pilots and soldiers routinely didn't come back from missions. The grief of losing someone hurt afresh every time it happened. But Luke had been driven by a purpose, a cause. He had been surrounded by friends. He had known who his enemies were.

Now...he had no idea, no bearing.

He wondered what Vader wanted from him. Why did the dark lord want him alive? What would happen if….when….Luke eventually confronted him? Was Vader as curious about his son as his son was about him? Could it be possible for the dark lord to actually...love him?

A small childish part of Luke imagined for a moment Vader actually cared, pictured having a relationship with a father, _his_ father, but quickly quashed the image. _Silly. Ridiculous._ Wasn't it?

He didn't know.

Or was Luke just a pawn in the game of war for Vader as well?

All this Jedi training, just to face and defeat the man who was not only the terror of the galaxy, but also Luke's long-lost parent. Even if Luke possessed the skills to do so, could he really kill the man who now represented every boyhood, starry-eyed daydream Luke had ever had about his heroic father?

He didn't know if he would be able to do it. Furthermore, it was a decision he should not have to make. It was painfully _unfair _that he even had to consider this_._

Luke was turning to retrace his steps back to the ship now, beginning with an arduous ascent back up the ravine, his barely healed lungs heaving in the effort of the climb.

Who did he think he was anyway? Just a backwater kid whose hopes and dreams had been dashed when he found out he was no longer the hero of the Rebel Alliance, but the spawn of their sworn enemy. When the Alliance decided his work, his sacrifice, his _devotion_ to their cause against the Empire was not, and could never be, enough. Because of whose son he was.

The shame burned through him. It wasn't though he had _asked_ for any of this. Not the infamy of being the one who'd fired the fatal shot at the Death Star, nor the notoriety of being Vader's son, nor the responsibility of shouldering the duties of a thousand years of Jedi knights who were now extinct.

Luke staggered to the top of the ravine. He felt dizzy and still weak from his illness. Some part of him deep inside wallowed in the pain as he stumbled down to his knees to rest momentarily on the mossy ground, swallowing gulping gasps of air.

He eventually regained his feet after several long minutes, pushing back the pain and discomfort with determination - he could do this - assuming a shaky course that seemed vaguely pointed in the direction of the ship. Years of living on Tatooine, with its lack of navigational landmarks had given him a good sense of direction. With the Force, Luke could even reach out and discern the indistinct but familiar presence of Han and Chewie. That felt new - something he couldn't have done even a few weeks ago.

If Luke told Han he wanted to escape on the _Falcon, _put the Alliance and the whole war behind them - forget about everything - and just mind their own business smuggling and hauling freight, Han would jump at the suggestion. Luke could have a permanent place as a member of the _Falcon's _crew, a place to call home, an anonymous existence.

Of course there was the small detail of Jabba the Hutt's price on Han's head and Vader's price on Luke's. They were both marked men. How long would they really be able to outrun the Empire and the bounty hunters? Weeks? Months? Eventually, it would probably catch up to them, just as it nearly had on Terrenia.

Luke reached what looked like a familiar spot of ground, terrain he'd covered before. The mist wasn't as thick here and visibility was better. In the distance, there was a light. It looked like a fire, flickering through a small portal.

Curiosity piqued, he set forward in the direction of the light, his mind still churning. As he came closer and closer to the flickering light, the clear outline of a small dome-shaped dwelling of sorts came into view. A few steps further, and Luke could make out the distinctive outline of Yoda, standing backlit in the arched doorway. Staring in Luke's direction.

Luke's first instinct was to turn and walk the other way, his senses affronted at the idea of being watched. He wasn't sure what he wanted to say to the old Jedi master right now anyway. He wasn't sure the tamped down heat of anger wouldn't flare up like a sunspot in conversing over the same ground they had gone over the day before.

Obi-wan's betrayal burned through his chest again. Like an idiot, Luke had trusted the Jedi. If he trusted Yoda enough to listen and learn from him, would he regret it? Would he look back just to realize he'd been used by the Jedi to take a swing at Vader and the Emperor?

"Good morning, young Luke." Yoda's voice carried the thirty-foot distance between them. "In time for some hot stew, you are."

Luke frowned. Why did it seem everyone was hell-bent on a mission to feed him? He stepped toward the small domed house, catching a whiff of the strange aroma. "I'm afraid I'm not very hungry at the moment. But thank you," he added out of politeness.

Yoda seemed not to have heard him. The small Jedi turned, with a gesture to Luke to follow, back into his house, leaning on his small cane. "Good food. Come!"

Pursing his lips, Luke followed. He ducked carefully through the arched door.

Yoda's hut was clean and dry. A small fire burned in the corner, a spit and black kettle hovering above, thin curls of smoke rising up through a narrow chimney of sorts. Yoda was standing at the pot, ladling some stew into a small wooden bowl. He stepped forward and offered the bowl to Luke.

Unsure what else to do, Luke sat down on the woven mat - his head still nearly coming to the ceiling - and accepted the food.

"Much pondering this morning, you have," Yoda remarked quietly, dishing his own bowl of stew. The small creature crinkled his forehead at Luke, awaiting a response.

Luke shrugged. "I…" he hesitated, still unsure. "I want to make the right decision."

"Ah," Yoda nodded, coming toward him now to sit on the mat across from Luke. "And what decision is that, have you decided?"

Luke bit the inside of his cheek. It would have to be a decision not based on fear - fear of his own inadequacies, or of Darth Vader and the Emperor - or anger over being lied to or being made a target. He needed to make his decision based on what was the _right thing to do, _on his ability to do the most good.

Stars, he hoped this _was_ the right decision.

Luke swallowed, straightened, met Yoda's steady gaze straight-on. He would do what he considered his duty.

Even if it cost him. Which it would. He knew down to his bones that he was choosing the harder thing.

"I want to learn the ways of the Jedi."


	14. Chapter 14

As always, thank you for following and reviewing. Comments are welcome. Enjoy!

-T.

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It was hard to believe eight weeks had passed. They had gone by relatively uneventfully for Han. He might even go so far as to say they'd been _boring_, but for once the smuggler felt like a little boring now and again was a healthy thing, especially considering the alternative. Anyway, his job was to keep an eye on Luke. The Princess was paying handsomely for this little babysitting gig, and it didn't bother Solo that no Sith lords or bounty hunters had made an appearance in the whole time they'd been here. Sure there was mud to contend with, and Kreth knew Solo _hated _snakes more than he hated anything, and, sure, their supplies were getting pretty low, which meant Han was going to have to start taking lessons from Yoda on cooking with the local cuisine.

And sure, Luke seemed more and more insular the more he trained with the small green Jedi master.

The kid trained ceaselessly. He was always running - with Yoda riding on his back - climbing vines using only the strength of his arms, wading hip-deep through fetid swamps, working out the finer points of lightsaber technique, practicing jumps, flips and turns for hours. Other times, to Han's disbelief, he was balanced in a handstand, eyes closed, lifting stones and logs with that _Force _of his. The kid never complained or argued, though the arduous workload obviously wore on him some days. But Solo noticed he never smiled anymore either. He had grown older, more serious in the past weeks.

It probably didn't help the things old Yoda was teaching the kid: The danger of showing emotion, of having attachments; the threat of being swallowed up by the 'dark side', which was presumably what happened to turn Luke's father into Darth Vader; the role of Jedi Knights as guardians of peace and justice. As if the kid needed a bigger savior complex.

Luke absorbed all of it, very serious, very intent on doing it right. He seemed focused, unafraid. He gained endurance and the musculature of a professional soldier, all hint of teenage gangliness and gaunt features from his illness completely gone.

But Han noticed things. Noticed Luke's cheek twitch and jaw tighten if ever the discussion turned to his father. Solo woke more than once to the sound of Luke's nightmares from the bunk room. The first time he'd bolted up in a panic, having heard frantic shouts, not sure what was wrong, stumbling in the dark to the cabin, hitting the lights. Luke had been half-sitting in a cold sweat, eyes wild, hair in complete disarray, chest heaving with frantic breaths.

_It was just a dream, _Han had reassured, more out of his own relief than to calm Luke who was already apologizing for waking him, features strained, face flushed with embarrassment.

Luke started spending more nights on the floor of Yoda's hut. Solo wasn't sure if the reason was because the nightmares abated there, or he was so spent with exhaustion from a long day of training that he didn't have the energy to stumble back to the ship. Or perhaps the young man was starting to prefer the elfin Jedi's company to Solo's and Chewie's. Han didn't know.

One such morning, when Luke hadn't come back, Han was working on his latest project on the _Falcon _\- rebuilding the backup hyperdrive motivator - when he passed the com terminal and noted with surprise that they had a message from the Princess. He read it, read it again, and frowned. They had not had much communication in the last weeks, agreeing that com silence would be the best security measure. He read the message a third time.

_The Alliance has had a change of heart. They want to negotiate for Luke to come back. The Aurel sector, 3rd moon from Tintian 4. Neutral place._

Still frowning, Solo closed the message, walking slowly back to the maintenance pit, catching a greasy rag from the edge to wipe his hands on.

The Alliance wanted the kid back. Just like that, as if they'd never plotted to capture and kill him. It could be a trap, of course. That would be Han's first suspicion. A way to lure the kid in with the promise that everyone was friends again, old wounds forgotten.

Of course there was also the possibility that the offer was genuine, that someone had talked some sense into Mothma or Cracken, or whoever the idiot was that thought Luke should be assassinated. Possible that they realized belatedly that having a Jedi on their side was not a bad thing - could be the very thing that won them the war, in fact - and they needed him again.

He wondered how Luke would react. He'd noticed the kid was pretty touchy about the idea of anyone - even the Jedi - using him for their war machine, to promote their agendas. Han couldn't blame him. He would feel the same in the kid's shoes. In fact, if he were in Luke's position, he would have washed his hands of the whole business. Look out for himself and no one else.

A stray memory flared: Luke standing in the hangar at Yavin IV, gussied up in his new Rebel flight suit, ready to take on the Death Star in his newly minted X-Wing. _Take care of yourself, Han. I guess that's what you're best at._

No, Luke wouldn't thumb his nose at the Alliance if they gave any hint of wanting him back. He was too duty-driven, too anxious to connect to his fellow Rebel pilots and the Princess, save the Galaxy and all that.

Han expelled a noisy sigh of frustration, tossed the rag to the deck as he climbed back into the pit. It was hard to keep someone alive who had little to no sense of self-preservation, always rushing from one danger to another. He wouldn't keep this information from Luke because he'd already seen the unintended consequences of people lying to him in order to protect him. He'd promised Luke he would always tell him the truth, adding of course that he would also always give his honest opinion, whether the kid asked for it or not.

And oh, he had some opinions about this.

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He meandered casually to Yoda's small hut, which was nestled under a large twisted tree, near a green pond of open swamp water. He was actually surprised to see Luke and the old green Jedi sitting in silence outside the entrance, Luke cross-legged, eyes closed, brow furrowed, hands resting lightly on his knees; Yoda, leaning on his stick, his own eyes also closed.

Han stood there for a moment watching them, uncomfortable with the stillness, wondering irreverently if he jumped out of the bushes and tried to scare them, if he could break their concentration. He cleared his throat instead.

When that didn't work, Solo spoke, first quietly, then a little louder.

"Luke."

The kid didn't even flinch.

"Hey, Luke, I need to talk to you."

No answer. Han was starting to get kind of creeped out.

Solo stepped forward, shook the kid's shoulder. "Luke, wake up."

Luke hitched a sudden breath like someone surfacing the water off a still lake, his eyes snapping open, limbs coming to life. Solo jerked back a few inches, startled in spite of himself.

"Han?" Luke frowned. Both their gazes went to Yoda, still immersed in his trance, unfazed by his surroundings. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

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They stood in the galley, next to the com terminal, eyes on the message. Chewie growled softly and Luke looked automatically to Han for a translation.

"He said something doesn't smell right," Han supplied.

Luke blinked, his gaze tracking the message again, expression unreadable.

Solo dropped his hand from his hip, lip curling. "I say it smells like a trap."

Luke moved to sit at the holochess table, running a thumbnail over the scuffed edge, his expression distant. "Yoda wouldn't want me to leave in the middle of my training. He says not finishing would make me open to the Dark Side."

Solo shrugged, moved carefully to sit across from the kid. He might not agree with everything the old Jedi was feeding the kid, but remaining on Dagobah was infinitely preferable to walking into a trap set by the Alliance. "Maybe you should listen to him then."

Luke's eyes flashed to Han and back to the table. He shrugged, unsure. "But if the Alliance needs me…"

"Then you'll let them...?" Han supplied, trailing off.

Luke's expression hardened suddenly as he glanced back up to Solo, his voice taking on an edge, a challenge for the smuggler to finish saying what they were both thinking. "Let them what?"

Solo shrugged, unafraid of Luke's sudden burst of hostility. It was good for Luke to show a little emotion once in a while, instead of bottling it all up, waiting to explode. "Let them use you," he replied with another noncommittal shrug. "First they want to kill you, then suddenly they say they're sorry, they don't really want to kill you - if you'll just come back, help them win the war they suddenly can't fight without you. Like an old girlfriend who just wants to use you for a free meal."

Luke arched his eyebrows. There was a glint in his eye now, the hostility momentarily forgotten. "This sounds like you're speaking from a place of experience."

Han grimaced. "Maybe I _am,_ junior," he growled, feeling exasperated that this conversation was taking a sudden turn to the problems in his love life. "The point is, don't just jump back in their arms because they act willing to take you again."

The half-amused expression was still on Luke's face. "It sounds like I need more advice from the Love Guru - " He jerked out of the way but not fast enough to avoid Han's whack on his arm.

"Knock it off, kid."

Luke became serious again, as if remembering that emotion for the Jedi was frowned upon. His glance back at the com unit told Han the Princess's message was on his mind. "The meeting date is…?"

"Three weeks from now."

"How far is the Aurel sector?"

Solo shrugged. "Two days, give or take."

Luke nodded, pushing to his feet now, heading back to his endless Jedi training. "That gives me time to think about it, then."


	15. Chapter 15

Well everybody, I was running out of chapters I had written ahead, but now, thanks to corona virus quarantine that has affected everything in my day-to-day life, suddenly there was more time on my hands. So more chapters. Enjoy, and everybody stay healthy out there! - T.

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Luke was balanced perfectly in a handstand. A small part of him was still amazed he could do this. At first, it had not been easy, of course, but with perseverance and repetition, he had gradually acquired the skill.

Carefully, he shifted his weight to lean completely on his right hand, freeing his left to lift slowly in the air. Two large stones were already balanced on top of each other.

"Concentrate," Yoda's voice urged in the background of his focus.

Luke was centered on the power of the Force, feeling it course through him, the connection between the ground and him, the stones, and Yoda. He felt the life pulsing through his surroundings - the plants, the insects, and the animals - all of it supplied him with the power to do this.

Slowly, splitting his concentration, he lifted two more stones in the air. With a little more effort, he set them rotating around each other, gradually faster.

"Through the Force," Yoda said evenly, "things you will see. Other places. The future, the past….old friends, long gone."

The words filtered through Luke's consciousness. His eyes were closed and he was picturing those stones rotating around one another faster, faster, becoming dizzy in their speed. They spun in orbit of one another, blurring together into a gray circle. In his mind, this gray blur suddenly bloomed to light.

He saw Leia. She was dressed in a brick-red pantsuit and long, gauzy gray jacket that reached to the floor, billowing behind her as she walked. She was walking down a corridor, he could make out; a long, drab hallway, poorly lit, flanked by what appeared to be members of Alliance security, dressed in pale blue.

Leia passed and paused at a window. Luke could see what she could see: cloudy gray skies, something white on the buildings - was it snow? She was several stories up. The buildings surrounding her were rectangle, flat-roofed, drab brown stone. Some of them had wrought durasteel stairs bolted to the sides. _Fire escape,_ Luke thought, having seen them on several old buildings on Tatooine, buildings more than several stories high that weren't modern enough to have back-up fireproof turbolifts on the inside.

Suddenly there was a sound and Leia turned her head sharply. Luke saw/felt one security officer at her side lurch forward, as if struck. Leia shouted for the man's name. There was a burst of laser fire and the two other officers went down in short succession.

Luke caught a flash of stormtrooper armour, and then the heavy breathing - the hiss of a respirator. _Darth Vader. _His breath caught in his throat as Leia backed away in fear. She was pressed against a wall. Vader was moving toward her, then one of the troopers fired a stun bolt, its green flash blinding Luke's eyes.

"Concentrate!" It was Yoda's voice, louder now, more urgent. Dimly Luke was aware that he was falling, the stones he had set spinning flying out the orbit that held them close, one grazing past the Jedi Master's ear.

Luke came to himself where he had fallen from his handstand, lying on his back, elbows coated in mud, gasping for a full lungful of air, as if he had been holding his breath, forgotten to breathe.

"Will you never learn, Young Luke?" Yoda's voice reprimanded, sounding tired.

Luke shut his eyes, squeezed them tight against the vision, wishing the sight of the Princess in Vader's clutches would stop replaying before him. "I saw Leia," he whispered. "She was in trouble - captured by Darth Vader." He gained his feet, running his hand over his eyes.

Yoda nodded sagely. "That is the future you see," he answered calmly.

"The future?" Luke shook his head, alarm rising in his throat. "You mean, this is something that _will_ happen?"

The old Jedi Master shut his eyes in concentration. "Difficult to see," he allowed finally. "Always in motion the future is. The possibilities...change they can."

Luke searched for the right words, fighting down the dread that curdled in his stomach. "I have to go to her, have to warn her."

"Best to complete your training, it is," Yoda replied calmly. "Or useless to your friends you will be."

Luke felt anger creep in. "You mean, just stay here and hide out while Vader captures her?" His voice was rising in volume. "You expect me to do that?"

Yoda's expression crinkled in thought, his eyes boring through Luke. "If you honor what she fights for - yes."

Luke frowned. "How does ignoring her peril honor what she's fighting for?"

"Your duty to the Jedi, to the Force, comes first and foremost," Yoda answered gravely. "On a galactic scale, you must think. What is for the good of the many, not just the one."

His duties on a galactic scale? What did that include? Waiting until he was adept enough in the Force to defeat Vader and the Emperor? What of the people he cared about, who cared about him? There were so few of them left at this point. Was it selfish and evil of Luke to consider the cares and needs of those in his immediate circle?

Could he ever forgive himself if something happened to Leia and he sat back and did nothing?

"No," Luke whispered finally, very sure. "I _can't_ do that. It's too much. What you ask of me is too much."

Then without another word he turned his back on the Jedi Master, walking the path briskly back to the _Falcon._

He reached the ship, stormed up the ramp to the hold. The ship's computer could perhaps tell him something of the architecture of the buildings he saw in his vision, give him a clue to the location and the timeline.

He pulled up Leia's message. The rendezvous she had set was in a few days' time. Luke had not decided if they would go through with it or not, had not messaged her back.

Now he called up images of the third moon of Tintian IV. There were a few mid-sized cities, farming fields, colossal mountains, white with snow - but nothing of the architecture he had seen in the vision.

Still, he could not get the vision out of his head.

He called the message back to the screen. Knowing what he now knew, he couldn't in good conscience remain on Dagobah and let the Princess face whatever danger might be lurking. That alone made his decision for him.

_We will come, _he sent. _Send coordinates and location. Be careful of Imperial trap. _He could not send much more in a deep space message. Besides that, he didn't _know_ much more from what he'd seen in the vision. Leia could be anywhere. Vader could be anywhere. All Luke knew was that he needed to get to her as soon as possible.

Booted feet echoed in the corridor. "Hey kid," it was Han. "Did old Leather Ears give you a lunch break?"

Luke turned and faced the smuggler, pursing his lips. "I've made a decision," he announced, crossing his arms. He felt cold suddenly, unsure.

"Oh?" Solo raised his eyebrows, hands on his hips. The smuggler had a large streak of grease on the sleeve of his shirt. "Should I be worried?"

"We're meeting Leia in the Aurel Sector."

"Yes, I should be worried," Han answered his own question. "Why this sudden decision? Does Yoda know?"

Luke felt a flare of irritation. Did he have to run every decision past Yoda and Han as if they were his caretakers? He was a grown adult, for Force sake. "He will," the Jedi answered, neatly sidestepping the question of why he had suddenly decided this. "When can we leave?"

Solo's brow furrowed in concern. He wasn't about to be redirected. "Why this sudden change of heart, kid?"

Luke looked at the floor, concentrating on the seams in the deck plating. "I think Leia's in trouble."

Han's eyes widened. "Trouble? What kind of trouble? How do you know?"

"I - it's hard to explain," Luke faltered. "The Force…." He tried again. "I don't know what kind of trouble exactly, but I know it involves Vader, and Yoda said it's sometime in the future. We have to go to her."

Solo looked dubious. "And you know this how? From the Force?"

"Sometimes Jedi can see things from the future," Luke explained quickly, feeling foolish. "Please, Han. I was right about Vader on Cattairn, wasn't I? You have to believe me. I know she's in danger."

Han was frowning at Luke now, his sense in the Force turbulent. Luke met his gaze steadily, firmly.

Solo broke first. Luke thought he was going to deliver a lecture on reckless behavior or chide him for his stupid impulsivity. But all the smuggler said was, "Okay, kid, when do you want to leave?"

Luke opened his mouth to speak. "I…" he faltered. "I guess, _now_. Today."

Han grimaced. "Okay, we've got to put the heat modules back together, which will take a couple hours. Could use a hand if you're free." Han lifted an eyebrow. The question was loaded with more meaning than just his words.

Hesitantly, Luke nodded. It was slowly sinking in how much of Han's own life the smuggler had put on hold on his behalf, how preoccupied Luke had been with his training, his own emotional pain, to wonder if Han and Chewie would much rather be elsewhere, doing their own thing. Of course, Han _was _being paid well, but still, the monotony of parking his ship on a swamp planet for two months was surely wearing on him.

Luke searched for the words, how to thank his friend or at least acknowledge what he had done for him. Maybe this wasn't really the time. Maybe Han knew already and didn't want the awkwardness of Luke articulating it. Instead, he answered lamely, "Sure - I - tell me what you want me to do."

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"Stay, you must."

Yoda was sitting on the swamp's edge, stirring the shallow water absently with his walking stick, the motion dredging up circular eddies in the brackish liquid, twisting and distorting his reflection in the pool. Luke had walked slowly, deliberately down the path - the path he himself had worn these last few months - from the ship to the Jedi Master's hut. The old Jedi didn't look up, not once, as Luke came to stand to the side of him, tall and straight, resigned to what he knew he needed to do.

"I can't."

Truthfully, he had come to simply say goodbye. Not to get mired in a discussion on whether or not he should go. His mind was already made up.

"Susceptible to the dark side are you. Your training is not complete." Insects buzzed lightly against the surface of the water, against the stick restlessly stirring up the mud.

Luke bit the inside of his cheek. Everything made him susceptible to the dark side, it seemed. His constant underlying anger that would not go away, no matter how he banished it; his burning sense of betrayal by Obi-wan - the one person who should have told him the truth from the beginning; the outsized burden placed on his shoulders, simply because there _was_ no one else to fight this fight for them. Somehow, his proximity to the dark side didn't scare him anymore, no longer filled him with shame or fear that his doom was his destiny. The abyss could yaw after him and he would stare it down.

_Do your worst._

He shook himself free. He was not sure he would return - if Yoda would even allow him to return after this. He was giving up, leaving his training incomplete, disregarding his master's earnest advice. In essence that made him a failure. _A failure of a Jedi._

Like his father before him.

"I have no other choice, Master Yoda." His voice was quiet, firm. Emotionless. Yoda should be proud.

Yoda jerked the stick with a startling splash. This was as close to anger as the old Jedi master ever came, perhaps. "No. You always have a choice. Rush headlong into battle with Vader, will you? And for what? You _are not ready." _He said this last, turning to face Luke now, pointing his stick with emphasis at Luke's much taller form.

Ordinarily, Luke would have crouched, respectfully meeting Yoda at eye level, ready to listen to what the old Jedi Master had to say. Now, he squared his shoulders, a flash of caustic words coming to his mind, aching to lash out.

"You say the Jedi are the guardians of peace and justice. Protectors of the galaxy." He shook his head angrily, willing himself to swallow back the words, knowing they would be hurtful, but they poured out anyway. "I don't care about Vader. I don't want to see him. I don't have to face him and I don't _want _to kill him. But Leia," his voice cracked now, and he felt the heat rush to his face, swallowing, trying to get his voice under control. _No emotion. Right. So much for being a Jedi._ He was failing, even at this.

He plowed ahead. "Leia is the last friend I have. If I can't be a guardian and protector to _her_ when she is in need…." he paused, met Yoda's eyes. The Jedi master's wizened face was crumpled into a frown. He didn't care. His voice lowered to a whisper, quiet enough that Yoda may not have heard. "Then the rest of the galaxy be damned."

Neither of them moved for a long moment. When it was clear Yoda did not intend to speak, to offer a rebuttal to Luke's words, nor to give comfort to Luke's pain, Luke set his jaw, very determined now. His path was clear.

Yoda bowed his head. In defeat.

Luke spun without another word, back the way he'd come.


	16. Chapter 16

Hi everyone, thank you for your kind reviews. I've wrestled far too long on the structure of this chapter. I'm still not sure it's exactly what I had in mind, but here it is anyway. -T.

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They were en route to the Aurel sector. The third moon of Tintian IV was named precisely that: "Third Moon."

Luke was sitting in the cockpit, watching hyperspace flicker past, the way one might watch the hypnotic lapping tongues of fire or the restless push of ocean waves. How long he'd been there, he couldn't say. What he was even thinking about, he couldn't say either.

He'd noticed immediately on departing from Dagobah the slow creep, the steady pressure of Darth Vader's questing presence. There had been something on the planet, then, whether it had been Yoda himself or something else, that had shielded Luke from his father.

There. He said it. In his mind, at least. Darth Vader was his father.

Luke knew now what he didn't know before his training - how to build up shields around his mind, protect his thoughts and guard his location from the dark lord. He was able to sleep marginally better - save for the recurring vision of Leia in Vader's clutches - without the Sith lord calling to him. Still, it took conscious effort to maintain, and Vader's continual bombardment of his shields left him with a dull, unrelenting headache.

As they neared Third Moon, that pressure that was Vader seemed to build behind his eyes, grow in intensity, so that, by the time they emerged from hyperspace - the planet all blues and greens, no Rebel or Imperial ships in sight or registering on the scopes - Luke knew that Vader was already here, his trap already set.

He said as much to Han.

"What are you talking about, kid?" the Correllian muttered, his eyes scanning the readouts. "There's no one here."

Luke didn't bother to argue. They would go ahead with the plan as it had been set out. Leia had sent instructions for them to meet on the main continent, near a mountainous region. The city, Y'tickarp, was a resort town for the lavishly wealthy, but with a quaint old section of buildings in the center that had been purposefully preserved for their supposed charm.

Luke could not be certain, but he felt that this city had been the scene from his vision. He would know soon enough when they arrived.

Naturally, perhaps knowing that an old, junky-looking freighter like the _Falcon _would never make it past the affluent city's space traffic control without appearing suspicious, Leia had left instructions for their landing in a nearby spaceport, more of a shipping facility, where the ship would blend in. Presumably the Alliance ship had taken similar precautions in a separate spaceport. The Aurel sector had minimal Imperial presence, too backwater to be of much interest to the Emperor, or to merit a full occupation. But still, it was best to be cautious.

It was decided that Chewie should remain with the ship. He would only attract attention if he accompanied Luke and Han - Third Moon's population was about seventy-five percent human, with most alien species in the service sector, which was perhaps another consequence of early, if largely disinterested, Imperial presence. Besides, someone would need to stay with the ship in case they needed to make a fast getaway. Chewie was not exactly happy with the idea of being left behind again and he let Solo know about it.

The smuggler didn't even spare the Wookiee a moment to argue about it. Luke noticed his friend fairly radiated nervous energy.

Han was not exactly thrilled with Luke's plan.

By the time they had landed, and Solo had returned to the ship, codes to a rented speeder in hand, Luke was ready, lightsaber tucked out of sight under the gray down parka - Third Moon was cold - he'd dug out of the _Falcon's _seemingly endless store of mismatched and odd-sized collection of clothing. Fortunately the jacket was only a little bit too big on Luke, roomy enough to hide his weapon, but not so bulky he couldn't move quickly if necessary.

"You ready?" Han snatched his gun belt from the holochess table, lifted up the small cross-body satchel over his head.

Luke holstered his own blaster and nodded. "Let's go."

"Chewie, the comlink's set?" Solo asked the Wookiee.

Chewbacca growled. Affirmative.

Solo nodded. "Okay, let's go."

The speeder was a closed-top model, a newer, nondescript luxury brand that would not call attention to their being too extravagant, nor too poor to be visiting a resort town like Y'tickarp. It would be easy to blend in.

Still, Han muttered something along the lines of "cheap Imperial junk" as he guided the speeder out of the spaceport and into the single shipping lane stretching between the towering mountain peaks, jagged and snow-capped. He was more than a little miffed about the slight to the _Falcon. _"The first thing we tell these Alliance bigwigs of yours is that all this cloak and dagger stuff is a waste of time and energy," he muttered to Luke.

Luke nodded, pursing his lips, distracted enough that it was several minutes before he realized he hadn't answered. He wanted to reach out to Leia, make sure she was okay, still safe, but he didn't dare. Vader's grating presence was a gnawing pressure in his temples, pressing in on his mental shields. Luke knew if he opened himself up to the Force, however briefly, the dark lord would hone in on his location in minutes.

No, they needed to stick with the prearranged plan.

"They've certainly relocated from the Melsinor base by now," he murmured finally. "I suppose they don't want to compromise the new base's location. At least until they're sure they can trust us."

Solo smirked at the rising canyon walls, sheer and slate-gray, matching the iron gray of the sky. The air hung heavy, like a storm was poised to drop, particularly as they gained altitude in the canyon. "It's them I don't trust. Like I said, this smells like a trap."

Luke shifted his own gaze to the viewport. "We just have to make sure Leia is okay. We'll make a decision about...everything else," he grimaced to himself, "after that."

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Leia checked her wrist chrono for the umpteenth time. She was standing in the empty corridor of the warehouse, the coordinates of which she had sent to Han and Luke.

The building was empty. The five blue-uniformed members of her security team had scanned the building for life-forms, explosives, or any other potential threats before she had even arrived in the closed-top speeder. In the building across the way, Rieekan and his small ops team - armed to the teeth, though they were there for backup only, he had repeatedly reassured her - had commandeered a small office space with a line of sight to the warehouse.

The extra security seemed like overkill. In orbit around Third Moon, a luxury yacht, leftover from the Old Republic glory days, posing as the ship of a wealthy vacationer, held two X-wings in its main hold, in case of any unforeseen emergency. Everything was in place.

But she was nervous. Which was strange for her. She never got nervous anymore. Perhaps it was a consequence of staring down Darth Vader aboard the _Tantive IV_, lying to his face that she had no idea whatsoever about the location of the Death Star Plans, or when she actually stood in the Death Star control room, gazing down at her beloved Alderaan, Tarkin sneering his contempt beside her, and Vader's iron fist gripping her shoulder as the blinding killing shot turned her homeworld into rubble.

After standing on the edge of that abyss, nothing below her feet, nothing to catch her fall, few things frightened her. She had walls built around her emotions in order to continue to function in the face of unimaginable terror and grief - a fortress blocking out fear and worry and sadness.

And yes, blocking out happiness too. That was the unintended casualty of shielding oneself from emotion. The mind did not discriminate between the good and bad: it simply blocked out all feeling and presented a sort of gray numbness.

So now that she was within an hour of seeing Luke again - her best friend, one of the few she had left - she thought she would feel light-hearted, relieved. It had been far too long. The past three months had been tense. She had fought tooth and nail for this meeting - this chance for Luke to meet with her and Rieekan and discuss the situation calmly in a neutral place, away from the threat of being arrested by jumpy Alliance security, worried Luke had betrayed them all to Vader, away from Mon Mothma's and Madine's - the new general, deflected from the Empire - allusions to a "solution" that would broker them peace and bring Vader to his knees, namely, by using Luke Skywalker as collateral against his father to negotiate the kind of armistice _they _wanted, which they claimed could end the war. The pressure had been immense, especially once they'd realized _she _was the one who'd tipped Luke off to their plans, that _she _may have had a way of contacting Luke, that _she _was the most likely person to have bankrolled their escape.

Emotions had run high. The only reason Leia was not sitting in a detention cell at the moment was because of who her father was - Bail Organa was a figurehead; his martyrdom had only strengthened that position - because of her Alderaanian heritage and the fact that she had proven her loyalty to the Alliance's cause a thousand times over during her imprisonment on the Death Star. And because she still controlled the vast funds of the House of Organa, the Alliance's fourth largest financial backer.

It had bought her immunity long enough to make a case for Luke's return to the Alliance. They needed Luke _on_ their side, not against them. They were going to alienate him to the point that they drove him straight into Vader's arms.

That could _not_ happen.

Han had been careful not to go into any sort of detail that might betray their tenuous safety, but he had implied Luke was training with a Jedi. Leia didn't know what that meant exactly, or how that was possible - she'd thought all the Jedi knights were dead - but she hoped Luke was gaining the skills he needed to protect himself.

Now she was about to see him, but instead of hopeful anticipation, she felt a strange sensation of intense dread curdling in her stomach.

_I have a bad feeling about this. _Han's words, in the garbage compactor aboard the Death Star.

Leia turned her gaze to the large window, eyes automatically sweeping the ground in search of the speeder Han would be flying. The cloudy skies hung gray and heavy over the adjacent buildings. The wind blew in eddies, sweeping trash and organic matter littering the ground into restless circles. A storm was blowing in. She'd read about the impressive blizzards in Y'tickarp, the record snowfall that could ground ships and isolate the city from virtually the rest of the planet. Fortunately, the high season for such storms was not for several months. There was only a light dusting of snow on the tops of the buildings now, and none on the ground.

She could see the flat-roofed building across the way, where Rieekan and his team waited, the narrow black durasteel stairs bolted zig-zag against the drab brown duracrete.

Her comlink buzzed. "Everything is in place, Princess," Rieekan's tinny voice reported.

Leia glanced down at her comlink, smiled tightly, her eyes darting to the five blue-uniformed Alliance security officers, standing at ease, but alert, in the corridor. "Everything is in place here too."

Now they just had to wait.

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Rieekan signed off, pulled his parka closer against the bone-cold chill of the unheated building, reaching up to the window he faced and rubbed a gloved finger against the grimy transparisteel.

"Sir, all four snipers are in place," a voice reported in clipped tones behind him.

Rieekan turned, grimaced to himself. Four sharpshooters were stationed within sight of the building _only _in the event that something went wrong - in case Skywalker were to go rogue and they needed to get the Princess out in a hurry.

The duplicity that gnawed at him, of course, was the fact that the Princess didn't know they were there. Rieekan, one of the few people she clearly felt she could trust, had himself not been completely honest with her. That bothered him. But he had known, as Mon Mothma and Madine had, that she was far too trusting of Skywalker for her own good. And even Rieekan, who thought highly of the young man, allowed for the distinct possibility that Luke Skywalker was no longer the man - the Alliance hero - they had known, in which case, they _had _to be prepared for eventualities.

He rubbed a bit more of the grime from the window, holstered his blaster, nodded wordlessly to the officer, and settled in to wait.

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Vance Daesz sat on the roof, behind a boxy ventilator unit, within sight of the entrance to the building where the princess was garrisoned. He was carefully disassembling his long-range sniper rifle, calibrating the scope, fine tuning the laser.

Rieekan didn't know it - thought he was a backup in case Skywalker went rogue on the princess and tried to kidnap her - but Vance was part of Madine's special ops team and had been tasked by Madine himself to get Skywalker in his sights and shoot to kill. With luck, Skywalker wouldn't even step foot in the building.

Vance was very good at what he did. As he snapped the components of his rifle back into place, the wind ruffling his dark hair, he tucked the rifle protectively under his parka, peered up at the iron-gray sky and the smattering of snow starting to fall. War often left little room for questions of ethics. He'd learned long ago that following orders without entertaining thoughts of the _rightness _or _wrongness _of a situation was the best way to be able to sleep at night.

That, and to never look a target in the eye.

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Rieekan's first instinct that something was wrong was a dull _bang_ against the lower level transparisteel door. He and the three other members of his team jumped in surprise, one of the men jerking his rifle up point at the entrance.

There was silence for a moment, heavy, expectant, then the distant ricochet of blaster fire. The general jerked to his feet, comlink in hand, pinging the two men stationed on the floor below.

"Lo'Dur," he snapped. "What's your status? Come in!"

Static answered.

Another burst of blaster fire sounded down below. Rieekan exchanged glances with his team. "Derl?" he nodded to his lead.

Derl nodded to the younger cadet at his side. The two drew their weapons and stepped noiselessly from the room.

With a dubious glance toward the empty warehouse across the way - Skywalker still nowhere in sight - Rieekan raised his comlink again to call the Princess.

Another burst of static. _Jamming. _ Someone was jamming them. Was it Skywalker and Solo? Doubtful.

Which left one distinct possibility: The Empire knew they were here.

Rieekan lurched to his feet, motioning for the remaining private - Tel Danlin, a twenty-four-year-old mechanic from DuTeil with ash blond hair and a long scar across his right eye - to follow him.

They would get to the princess themselves.

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Leia was standing, fidgeting, at the window, eyes on the road below, when the _whoomph_ explosion of a compression grenade - she would know that sound anywhere - lurched them all to their feet in a sudden haze of smoke and confusion, ears singing a single tone against the deafening _pop_ of the explosion.

The source of the sound came from behind the closed durasteel door at the end of the corridor, the bright flash burning a spot in her vision in the gloom of the low light.

Her blaster was instantly in her hand, heart pounding as smoke poured into the corridor. She looked around wildly, saw her security guards snap into action, faces simultaneously surprised and grim.

As Leia ducked - almost in slow motion it seemed - into the paltry shelter of a recessed cove in the wall, her mind wildly searching for _who would do this?,_ her free hand fumbling for her comlink, she registered belatedly the green flash of blaster fire ricocheting dangerously down the corridor.

"Rieekan, come in!" She shouted over the din.

Distantly, she saw one of her guards take a hit squarely in the chest, the force of the blow hurling him backwards. She screamed his name, but she couldn't cross the corridor to get to him without jumping into the path of the raining blaster fire herself. She got off three more shots to keep their heads down, twisted her head back to catch sight of their only escape route - the door at the opposite end of the corridor - if they could make it there without getting shot.

The space was filling with acrid smoke, erasing visibility, which _could _be to her benefit, providing visual cover, if she could move quickly. Ahead and to the left, her guards were inching forward, firing, firing…

Another man went down in a heap of blue uniform. Then another. The two remaining actually fell back to cover her, somehow avoiding the raining hail of deadly green laser bolts.

Suddenly out of the thick choking smoke emerged one familiar shape, then another, and another, white helmet and black eyepieces reflecting the flashes of green.

Stormtroopers.

Leia swore in a very un-ladylike fashion, got off a volley of four more shots - felling one trooper - before the guard to her left jerked and collapsed back against the wall.

Suddenly the blaster fire from the Imperials stopped, the silence deafening.

The remaining guard got off two more shots, and in response four stormtroopers opened fire. Leia cringed as the man crumpled against the wall and slid to the floor at her feet.

"Drop your weapon!" a mechanical voice snapped, distant to Leia's shock-stunned ears.

She was the only one left.

She thought she could hear the mechanical rasp of someone's breathing, even as she raised her arms away from her body and her blaster clattered to the duracrete floor.

A black shape rose from the thick haze, familiar because she had seen it in her nightmares nearly every night for a year, complicated because somehow it was now tied up with the fate of her closest friend, claiming to be his father; terrifying, this close in the gloom and the smoke, coming toward her where she stood, weaponless, the only one on her team left alive.

A stunshot rang out, volleyed to her.

Even as Leia collapsed back into darkness, she was paralyzed with the realization that _she_ had unwittingly led Luke straight into a trap.

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The collection of identical drab brown buildings - remnants of a factory/industrial town before entrepreneurial cold-weather enthusiasts had rebranded the sleepy village into a luxury resort - rose up on the horizon. The buildings were an incongruent stain against the treeline - stick-straight conifers in small clusters - and the jagged peaks that rose up sharply on both sides.

From the vantage point of the shipping lane, Luke could see glimpses of rooftops, inconspicuous dwellings against the cliffsides. It was unclear how one was able to reach those buildings from where they were at the bottom of the canyon. But then, he realized, perhaps that was the point.

The buildings matched those he saw in his vision on Dagobah.

"There we are," Han muttered, nodding toward the viewport. "Keep your eyes sharp for Imperials."

Luke let his gaze drift momentarily to the gray sky. The wind was blowing, buffeting the speeder lightly. Snowflakes stirred restlessly side to side, as if the wind had simply dredged them up from the ground. Visibility was going to be more of a problem as the clouds sunk lower and lower.

He shook his head. "There's nothing to see."

Han glanced quickly sidelong. "But you're sure Vader's here? You're nuts, kid, you know that?"

Luke didn't answer.

After a moment, expelling a noisy sigh, Solo resettled in his seat. "Okay, then. We'll park the speeder a ways away, find a back door…"

Luke reached behind the seat and hefted the small sack of thermal detonators they had brought. Though there were only two of them, and presumably many more Imperials, they weren't completely without resources. "We can create a diversion with a couple of these - "

He broke off suddenly as his vision bloomed into a drab corridor, green flashes and smoke, fear, the hissing breathing of Darth Vader, the white glint of a stormtrooper helmet, the sound of someone crying out.

Suddenly, he couldn't breathe. He arched forward, sucking in a gasp of air, cold sweat on his forehead, tears stinging his eyes.

The speeder jerked, and he was back, pressed into the plastene seat, gasping for breath, aware that Han's voice, distant, was calling his name in alarm.

_Leia. _Vader had Leia. Just like his vision on Dagobah.

He was too late.

The speeder weaved precariously again, Han's hand on his shoulder. Luke took a gasping breath, forcing air into his lungs, slamming down his mental shields before Vader detected his presence, the echo of that scream still ringing in his ears.

"Vader has her," he forced out. "We're too late."

"_What_?" Solo demanded, eyes ahead again as he stabilized the speeder. "How can you be sure? What just happened?"

Luke felt nauseous. He needed some air. He didn't answer as he fumbled blindly for the viewport controls, cracked open a window. A slice of bitter cold air roared through, a slap of reality against the sudden heat of the small cockpit. "Just go faster," he hissed.

Han _did_ go faster. Luke shut the window, leaning forward, tense with anticipation, eyes fixed on the approaching buildings. There were no visible Imperial ships. Some speeder traffic, but it was sparse. Solo circled. "Can you raise anyone on Alliance frequencies?" He asked. "It would be great to have some backup."

Luke tried. Only static answered. "They're jamming us."

Han cursed, glaring at the viewport. "That means they know we're coming."

Luke grimaced. It didn't change what they needed to do, but it certainly would make their task harder. Underneath it all was the calm realization that all this was an elaborate trap, set for _him._ And he was willingly walking into it. "I know," he answered quietly.

But he had a plan.

They passed a small landing pad, empty. Up ahead, was the building that matched the coordinates Leia had sent. Han went past it, turned abruptly up a small alleyway between two more buildings. "Okay, kid, if this is going to work…." he hadn't even pulled up to a stop before Luke had opened the hatch, the roll of dirty brown tarpaulin bundled in his arms, flinging the material over the bulk of the speeder. It would not be noticed from the entrance of the alleyway, unless someone looked carefully, which they hopefully wouldn't.

Han was right behind him, the satchel of explosives in hand.

Luke scanned the wall of the building to the left for any stairs or entrances. There was a boarded up doorway a few feet farther up the alley past the speeder. He nodded to it.

"Come on."


	17. Chapter 17

Thank you again for your follows and reviews. Thank you for waiting this long - it only took 45,000 words for Luke and Vader to come face-to-face. P.S. in case you were wondering, I now have a handle on where this story is headed. Enjoy the ride and stay safe out there! -T.

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The first thing Leia noticed as she came to was the cold. Iron cold had numbed her nose and fingers. She could hardly feel her hands at all. A moment later, she realized why: Her hands were shackled awkwardly behind her back, numb, tingling.

The second was the splitting headache. The pain settled in belatedly, like a rock weighing down her skull. She forced her eyes open anyway, blinked quickly to focus in the gloom. She was sitting in a straight-backed chair, her head resting heavily on a splintered wooden table that smelled of woodstain. The smell made her want to retch.

Carefully she lifted her head, the movement twisting her arms painfully.

She was in a large, dimly-lit room. It was empty - duracrete floor, smoke-grimed windows - save for the table and chair where she was seated. Three other chairs were tucked neatly under the table. No one else was in the room.

Belatedly, she realized this was the room where she was supposed to meet Luke and Han, where she had planned to negotiate with Rieekan and Luke and convince her friend and the general that Luke should return, unharmed, to the Alliance.

Memory dawned on her, flashed images before her eyes: The smoke-filled corridor, Stormtroopers, Vader's heavy mechanical breathing.

_Luke. _Her stomach twisted in fear.

It was a trap. She had to warn him somehow.

She twisted to see the chair, wondering if she could somehow move it, but saw that heavy girders attached the chair to the rustic wooden table legs.

She heaved the chair against the girders anyway, wondering if she had the strength to move the table with it, the sound clattering too-loud in the cavernous silence.

The table didn't even budge.

She glanced wildly toward the nearest window. Through the grime, she could see the shadows of the outer stairway on the exterior of the building. The window was a mere two meters from her place in the chair. If she could somehow escape her bonds, she could smash the window, escape via the stairs.

She began to twist her hands in their shackles, working her wrist as far as possible through the metal cuffs until her hand was stuck fast.

Determinedly, she pulled her hand further on the shackles, ignoring the pain. She _had _to warn Luke about Vader.

Suddenly the entire room rumbled, the floor shuddering beneath her feet. Leia jumped in spite of herself, her hand losing the progress it had made through the metal shackles.

An explosion. It sounded like a mid-range thermal detonator, not very far distant.

Rieekan? She wondered to herself. Was he still free? Trying to get to her?

Leia took a deep breath, feeling a small ray of hope bubbling up. If Rieekan freed her, they would be able to warn Luke before Vader had a chance to capture him.

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The explosion had its desired effect.

The small building had been the perfect decoy. By the time it looked like it was on the verge of toppling over, black smoke pouring out of the shattered transparisteel windows, Han and Luke were on the roof on the building adjacent, where Leia had requested to meet them, flattened against an airshaft unit, surveying their handiwork, and noting with satisfaction that their plan was working so far.

A small platoon of stormtroopers poured out of the entrance below, any subterfuge over the fact that they were here apparently gone at this point. They surrounded the building, blasters drawn.

Luke and Han didn't stay to see any more.

Luke rose noiselessly to his feet, crossing half-crouched to the fire escape stair that began about eight feet below. He would belay Han down to the landing. It would be quieter than jumping, and safer, since the stairs didn't look _that_ sturdy.

"Hurry," he hissed to Solo as the smuggler loped over to him. "While they're still distracted. Keep your head down and wait for my signal."

"Right, kid," Solo muttered. "Just watch out you don't get caught."

Luke laughed shortly, momentarily overconfident. It was starting to snow; small, pelting flakes driven forward by the erratic wind. They stung where they hit his face and hands. He turned against the wind.

Han sat down on the edge of the flat roof, holstered his blaster and dangled his legs over. Luke knew the smuggler didn't care for heights. "How lucky we are that all these stairs are here." He muttered, deadpan, unravelling a tow cable from his utility belt and tossing the other end to Luke.

"Quiet," Luke hissed, mooring the line to a metal bar jutting from the roof a few feet away. It seemed sturdy enough. As a precaution, he braced his weight against Han's as the smuggler set the line, stepped over the edge. The line held.

After a moment, the rope went slack, and Luke peered over the edge to see Solo crouched against the top landing of the stairs. The smuggler threw him a two-fingered salute, and Luke nodded before stepping back.

The fading daylight, such as it was, was beginning to cast everything in navy shadow - a feature that would hopefully keep Solo unnoticed by any passing stormtroopers down below.

Soundlessly, Luke stepped back to the air shaft ventilator, took a swift glance around, activated his lightsaber with a deafening hum and plunged the saber into the grating. He swiftly cut three sides of a square and deactivated the saber before its light might be spotted. Taking hold of the grating, he pulled, bending the metal just enough that he could slip underneath into the air shaft. The saber had illuminated the shaft enough that Luke could see the bottom, about four feet down. He dropped soundlessly.

Luke drew his small lumen, extended his arm to see into the dark. The shaft extended horizontally about twenty feet, tall enough that he could crawl through. He began to do so, breathing cautiously against the inches thick dust he was stirring up.

When he reached the end of the shaft, it turned sharply to the left. Keeping his shields carefully in place, Luke reached cautiously out with the Force. Vader's presence was near, but he couldn't pinpoint it if he was to stay shielded.

Below him was an empty room. Luke registered no life forms near him, so he drew his lightsaber and plunged it into the venting, through cables and - whoops - through a water pipe that promptly burst with a _bang _of released pressure, sending icy, rust-colored water exploding in Luke's face.

Luke jerked back, slashing quickly through the ceiling and jumping down to the duracrete floor below. His parka was drenched in the dirty water, still gushing now with less force from the ceiling. Luke shook the water from his hair, stripped off and discarded the wet parka, his lightsaber ready in his hand, deactivated. He could feel Vader's presence, pressing closer, almost suffocating now.

He tamped down his alarm, and stepped cautiously into the corridor.

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Rieekan was crouched in the dark of the stairwell, Danlin directly behind him. There was a window at the top of the stairs, but no exit. Two stories below them he again heard the repeated staccato of blaster fire.

They had gone up as far as they could. Now they either walked down to confront the unknown number of intruders...or they waited.

Rieekan chewed his lip. Every cell in his body screamed at him to get to the Princess and to do it quickly. But with their communications jammed, and no return of Derl or Lo'Dur, he had no way of knowing if they were dead or had walked into a trap.

He was no good to the Princess dead.

Suddenly, there was an ominous rumble, shaking the walls and sending a shower of dust from the duracrete ceiling down onto their heads.

"What was that?" Danlin hissed nervously. Rieekan shook his head and motioned for the other man to be quiet. He crept up the remaining stairs to the narrow window. It was roughly at shoulder level and crisscrossed with metal bars. Even if he did have a way of breaking the bars, he doubted he would be able to squeeze through the narrow opening, not to mention the problem of the sheer drop just past the ledge.

But he could see, seven stories below, smoke and flames erupting from the windows of a stout building near where the Princess was garrisoned. Rieekan swore softly.

Down below, he heard shouts. Then he saw white armour, blasters at the ready, stormtroopers filing from the princess's building.

Rieekan swore again.

How had the Empire known they were here?

The princess was clearly in danger. He thumbed his comlink again, to the sound of more static jamming, struck his fist against the rough brick wall. He had to get to her somehow.

A glance down below revealed several white-armoured troopers exiting their building, headed to the source of the explosion.

This was the distraction they needed, probably the best one they'd get.

Decision made, he turned to look down at Danlin. "Okay, he murmured quietly. "We're headed down and out. Look sharp."

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When the sound of the explosion rumbled through the floor, Darth Vader was standing alone in the corridor, his hand on the hilt of his deactivated lightsaber.

It was either Rebels or Skywalker setting off a thermal detonator, to what end, he had no idea. It hardly mattered, since it didn't interfere with his plans, here and now.

"Sir," a voice on his secure frequency clipped.

"What is it, commander?" Vader rumbled, turning to the window. There wasn't much to see from this vantage point.

"An explosion has destroyed the ice-packing building on the southwest quadrant. A team is going to investigate now."

The dark lord didn't reply as he shut off his comlink. He stayed focused on the matter at hand. His troops would investigate less important matters.

From behind the heavy door at his right, he heard another sound - a wooden chair scraping against the duracrete floor and a shout of frustration - indicating the princess was again conscious and in as good humor as ever.

There was a time when the headstrong young woman was at the top of the Empire's most-wanted list. Now, she was merely a tool to get him what he wanted, after which she was completely expendable; a thorn in his side.

Still, Leia Organa had been useful for something - a very valuable something. She had led him straight to Luke Skywalker.

The boy was shielding himself - well, in fact - but Vader could tell he was near, approaching. He could not resist the pull of his friends' presences, particularly if they were in danger. Vader smiled tightly. It was a weakness that would prove to be his undoing.

His son had become quite strong in the Force in a very short period of time. The dark lord was impressed in spite of himself. Luke was truly his father's son, and Vader looked forward to claiming him as his own. Very, very soon.

He had only to wait patiently.

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Daesz watched unmoving as the billow of thick black smoke bloomed into the gray sky, mixing with the low clouds. The snow was coming down in small flurries, pelting his exposed skin and filling the creases in his battle fatigues.

Daesz had seen the stormtroopers, but had detected no sign of Skywalker. He squinted in the late-day gloom, raised his macrobinocs slowly to his face. Was that movement on the roof of the building?

He brought the binocs into focus. Yes - two shadowy figures scurried to the far side of the roof. After a moment, one disappeared. The remaining one - was it Skywalker? - walked partway across the roof again.

There was a brilliant blue flash - a lightsaber. Definitely him.

Daesz untucked the sniper rifle from the cover of his flack jacket, adjusted the eyepiece, took aim.

Skywalker moved quickly. It was difficult for Daesz to get a fix on his target.

Then, without warning, the blue light of the lightsaber disappeared and so did its wielder.

With a controlled sigh, Daesz sat back, dropping his rifle to rest in his lap again. He would get another chance. He just had to be patient.

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Han made his way slowly down the fire escape steps, blaster in hand, moving carefully to avoid the creaking of metal that might give away his position to any passing stormtrooper.

All they would have to do was look up. He was a sitting pittin.

The building had eight floors - if he had counted right as they'd passed in the speeder earlier - and the room they were to meet Leia in was on the fifth.

Luke had been certain that she was still there, in that room, that she was now being held captive. Not knowing exactly where Vader was in relation to her, the kid hadn't wanted to rush in just yet. He felt that splitting up and drawing Vader's attention away from Leia was the best approach.

Fair enough. Except for the fact that Solo had a rotten feeling about this whole thing. Purposefully using oneself as Vader-bait didn't bode well for life expectancy.

Han reached the floor above Leia's. He paused, not moving any further. The transparisteel windows were coated with enough grime that the window itself was opaque. No lights shone from the room. Darkness was falling rapidly, but it was still possible that he might cast a shadow into the room and make himself an easy target for a trigger-happy stormtrooper.

So he crouched against the wall, to wait until the signal came from Luke that it was time to move.

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Luke stepped through the destroyed remains of the durasteel door on the fifth floor, cringing at the sight of Rebel and Imperial bodies littering the floor. _This_ was the scene of the vision that had haunted him the last few days. Automatically, though he _knew_ she was still alive, he scanned for Leia among the fallen.

She wasn't there.

He took a steadying breath, his footsteps echoing in the cavernous corridor. The door to the meeting room was in the corridor up ahead. Leia was there, he felt sure of it. He was nearly to the adjoining corridor He would get her free if it was the last thing he did.

Stretching out with the Force, he felt -

-_Him-_

Vader. In spite of himself, Luke froze for a moment, locked into place, an icy cold gripping his heart. There was no going around this. He hadn't wanted to face Vader, but he was not afraid to do so. He would rescue Leia at any cost, even if that included facing his -

_His father._

Grimly, he stepped forward, lightsaber resting lightly, ready, in his right hand.

"The Force is with you, young Skywalker," a deep bass voice rumbled. In the distance, nearly at the end of the long corridor, an enormous shadowy figure stepped into view. Luke's heart crawled into his throat, pounding loud in his ears. "But you are not a Jedi yet."

Luke stepped forward, swallowed. "Let her go, Vader. It's me you want."

Darth Vader advanced to his son. "She is a wanted criminal. That carries the death sentence. Her fate is out of your hands."

Luke kept walking forward, resolutely, destiny marching him onward. He had reached the join in the corridors, mere feet from the door where Leia was imprisoned. "I don't want to fight you."

There was a strange hissing sound from the mask, like mocking laughter. Vader's lightsaber hummed to life with a snap-hiss. He moved it swiftly side to side, still stalking toward Luke. "It is strange," his voice sounded angry. "I never considered my son would turn out to be a coward."

Luke set his teeth, closing the gap. He would not be goaded into battle. "It is strange," he retorted, jaw tight. "I never considered _my father_ would turn out to be the henchman to the galaxy's most evil despot."

Vader suddenly lunged forward, just as Luke's own lightsaber snapped to life. Luke hadn't planned to parry, however. As the crimson blade came down where Luke's head had been, he opened himself up to the Force, felt time slow. He dropped to one knee, rolled clear of the oncoming saber in the same moment he flung his own weapon through the door. He saw it, in his mind's eye, slice vertically through the durasteel door, sail through the air to the opposite end of the room, and slash a gaping hole through the window, the sound of shards of transparisteel exploding outward.

Leia shouted his name, but Luke was already calling the saber back to him in the corridor, launching into a parkour-style backflip to avoid another slashing thrust of the crimson saber. His weapon landed in his hands just as the red saber swung back in another attempt to decapitate him. Luke used his forward momentum to parry the blow, glaring white hot daggers at Vader, even as the dark lord strong-armed him into a faltering backstep.

"Get her out of here!" he screamed in Han's direction, not taking his eyes off Vader, chest heaving with the effort of his exertion. They both stood there, sabers crackling. Luke knew he didn't possess the brute strength to match Vader's physical power, which meant he was going to have to get clear of the corridor if he was going to survive this duel. A small fighting space could prove to be deadly.

He had no desire to involve Leia and Han in any way in this fight. He would not give the dark lord any more ammo to leverage against him. He _had_ to lead Vader away and up towards the roof, so Han could get Leia down toward the speeder and escape to the _Falcon_.

"Her life is forfeit," Vader cut into Luke's thoughts, the force of his strength pushing Luke steadily back toward the wall. "You'd best worry about yourself."

"Stay out of my head!" Luke snapped, parrying the next backhanded strike from the hulking figure. He silently thanked Yoda for his daily morning lessons on footwork as he deftly stepped out of the way of the next blow.

The ceiling was not too low for a backflip, which is what Luke pulled next, putting a good ten feet between him and Vader's glowing saber.

With a roar of anger, Vader launched forward. Luke was nearly at the stairs now, metal slatted steps bolted to the wall, much the way the fire escape was fixed to the outside of the building.

In other words, they would not hold up long after a few deft slashes from a lightsaber, which meant Luke had about fifteen seconds to get as far up as he could and draw Vader away from Leia's escape.

Gritting his teeth, he leapt the steps by threes, made it to the next landing before the hum of the crimson saber, thrown from the landing below, grazed past his ear, slicing through a support strut to his left.

The stairs jerked with a mighty shriek under Luke's weight, but he powered forward anyway, catching his balance against the sudden shift of gravity.

Sixth floor. He was almost there. The corridor was in sight, just a few steps ahead.

The threatening hum of the lightsaber whipping past him again was overpowered by the screech of strained metal, and suddenly he was falling back.

Gritting his teeth, Luke reached out through the Force and somehow located the wall in his free-fall, bracing his feet against it and launching _up._

It was a tremendous drain on his energy, and he could feel Vader _pulling_ back on him. But fighting gravity and the dark lord's magnetic pull, suddenly he found himself scrabbling for purchase against the crumbling brick ledge of the sixth floor corridor floor, swinging his legs up to the edge.

The roar of frustration from the dark lord echoed cavernously in the stairwell, followed by the deafening _boom _of the heavy metal stairs screeching to a mangled heap below him.

Luke didn't stay to hear more. He scrambled to his feet on the dusty floor, ran to the nearest window. This side of the building looked out on the building he and Han had detonated, which was still pouring light gray smoke into the sky. Snow pelted the glass.

Luke knew he didn't have much time before Vader was on him again. He hoped Han and Leia were out and making their way as far as possible from here. His only plan was to play for time, and then escape… somehow.

Past the grime, Luke could make out the rooftop of another building, perhaps thirty feet distant. Its roof was lower than this one. With the Force, he could jump. He could make it to the other roof, he knew he could.

Behind him, the sound of a chime made him jump. The turbolift car. Luke glanced behind him just long enough to see the door start to open, the red glowing shaft of the lightsaber flooding the space. Vader had simply ridden the lift up.

Luke turned, slashed at the window, bursting shards of crystal transparisteel in a rough triangular hole. The hiss of Vader's breathing was suddenly overpowered by the sudden gust of wind and snow that rushed into the room.

Luke felt the dark lord rush at him, but he didn't have time to look back. He stepped up to the ledge, didn't look down.

He jumped, his feet pedalling wildly in the air, the bitter cold wind knifing through his still-damp tunic and hair. Then his feet hit the roof of the adjacent building, skidding slickly in the dusting of snow.

He barely had time to regain his feet, switch his saber from his left hand to his right and swing with all his might at the oncoming crimson blade, wielded by a very angry dark lord.

Because, of course, if Luke could jump thirty feet across a chasm, Vader could too.


	18. Chapter 18

Thank you for your kind words and reviews. Yes, my version of Vader is pretty mean. He is the bad guy, after all. -T.

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The signal to move in didn't take as long as Han had expected. But it was a little more of an abrupt indicator than he had been anticipating.

With a suddenness that made him jump, there was a crash and the sound of shattering transparisteel. Solo flinched back as a flash of electric blue blade sliced through, humming menacingly outward, then disappeared again.

He heard a woman's voice. "Luke!" and then another ominous crash.

Well, that was his cue.

Han's eyes darted around to check for anyone aiming a blaster in his direction, saw none, and scrambled down to the landing, level with the shattered window, Luke's voice shouting just as he straightened to peer into the gloom of the empty room, "Han, get her out of here!"

Then a nearer voice: "Han!" It was the Princess, alive and well, seated at a rustic table, hands shackled awkwardly behind her, her face alight with hope and worry all mixed together.

Han cleared the jagged edges of the shattered transparisteel in one awkward leap, grinned at her in spite of himself. "At your service, Highnessness."

She made a face, trying not to smile in her relief, twisted back. "Get me out of here - hurry!"

He made a face back as he pulled his vibroblade from his boot. Was there ever a time when she _wasn't_ issuing orders?

Leia looked dubiously at his blade. "I don't think that knife is going to be able to cut through these cuffs."

Solo knelt down near the back of the chair to inspect the binders, ignoring her. His blade was a multi-tool with a few options. He flipped through several of them. "Sure could use the kid's lightsaber about now," he muttered.

As if on cue, there was another crash of saber blades from the corridor, and the bass rumble of Vader's voice, very angry.

"Hurry," the Princess repeated, twisting to the door again, her fists balled in worry.

Han shushed her. "I'm trying, okay? This takes a minute." He finally found the tiny saw feature on his blade, activated it. "Don't move unless you want to lose a hand," he ordered sternly. Leia immediately held still.

It took a few minutes, the steady whine of the miniature saw uncomfortably loud in the sudden silence. Luke and Vader had moved down the corridor, and the clash of saber blades faded with them. "He's going to get himself killed," Han muttered unhappily.

Leia didn't respond.

With a snap of metal, the cuffs snapped free of the chair. "There!"

Leia yanked her hands free in front of her and leapt to her feet, her right hand going to rub away the pain in her shoulder.

Suddenly there was a thundering _boom_ from the distant corridor. Han traded looks with the Princess. Whatever that just was, he would like to be far, far away from it as soon as possible. He grabbed Leia's wrist, dashed back to the window. "Come on!"

But she jerked back. "Wait - we can't leave Luke to Vader. We have to help him!"

Han shook his head, not willing to risk getting caught because Leia Organa wanted to stop and argue with him. "Princess, the kid can take care of himself." She raised an eyebrow at that one. "Okay," Solo amended. "He can take _better _care of himself if we stay out of his way."

"Like hell," Leia muttered, her expression disbelieving. "Did he tell you to say that?"

Han pulled her toward their escape. "He told me my first priority is to get you to safety, and that's what I'm going to do."

She stumbled after him, stepped carefully over the jagged shards of the window. "I'm not leaving without him."

She was going to prove to be the galaxy's most irritating female. "No one's leaving without Luke," Han ground out. "But we're getting out of here right now. No use to the kid if we both get caught."

The stairs groaned with their added weight. Solo headed downward, the Princess's wrist still firmly in his grasp, pulling her along behind - as if he was afraid she would dart off at any moment and try to run after Luke. The wind whipped his hair, tiny snowflakes pelting his exposed skin.

"Lovely weather we're having this evening," he muttered under his breath.

Suddenly there was a gasp behind him and Leia jerked to a stop. Solo turned back to snap something at her when he saw it too: five stormtroopers coming around the corner below, conversing casually with each other. All they had to do was look up.

_Sitting pittins, _he thought for the second time in an hour.

They stood, frozen for a moment until Leia deftly freed her hand and began creeping back _up _the stairs.

What in blazes was she up to?

Glancing quickly back down, Han realized they didn't have much other choice if they didn't want to walk straight into the Imperials' arms. They were outnumbered, with one blaster between the two of them. Shooting them would be out of the question if they hoped to keep a low profile and actually get out of here.

Moving much more slowly this time, he followed Leia back up the stairs, testing each step for its potential to creak, which could give them away.

_Don't look up, _he pleaded to the white-armoured figures down below. His blaster was in his hand just in case. He figured if he heard a shout, he could get off at least two shots before anyone would be able to fire at him.

Going back into the room they had just vacated seemed like a bad idea. Who knew how many troopers still guarded the other side of the door? At the same time, shattering a window on a different level would certainly give them away. And the stairs had a very distinct dead end two and a half meters below the roof, which would make getting to the roof more difficult than getting off it was.

They communicated this roughly through hissing whispers and angry pantomimes.

Finally, Han gesticulated to the tow cable, still dangling over the edge of the roof, swaying slightly in the wind, indicating that they were going up and over.

"Are you crazy?" Leia hissed at him.

"I'll pull you up, your Worship," he shot back, setting forward again. Luke wasn't the only one who could climb vines.

At the top of the stairs, with another glance down at the Stormtroopers still milling around, he fisted the thin rope in his hands. Leia moved aside slightly for him to be able to jump. He glanced at her; thin, gauzy jacket blowing against her in the wind. She looked cold.

"Do you know how to do this?" he asked, nodding at the cable.

She smiled benignly, not amused at being patronized. "I think I can manage. After you, Captain."

Solo sneered at her rebuttal, tossed her his blaster in case someone started shooting at them. "Hold this, will you?"

He seized the rope with both hands, swung his feet up to the brick wall and began climbing, booted feet walking up the wall. The cable dug painfully into his hands, the wind whipping around him as he approached the rooftop and the end of the feeble shelter the wall had brought.

Once he pulled himself up to the top, heaved himself up to the snow-covered roof, he reached down to give Leia a hand. But she was already tossing the blaster up to him, catching the cable. It turned out she didn't need much help at all - she'd clearly done this before. Han tucked that fact away under the category of _Things That Should No Longer Be Surprising. _ When Leia reached the edge, he grabbed her arms and pulled her over, quickly.

They'd made it - and no one had sounded an alarm.

Leia got to her feet and brushed herself off. The wind whipped her jacket around her like a flag. She crouched down near Han. "What's our next move? How are we going to help Luke?"

Solo hooked his thumb behind them. "Me and Luke got up here from the stairs on that side. We might have to wait it out if it's overrun with Stormtroopers though. Here," he took off his thick parka and handed it to her.

Hesitantly, surprised at his gesture, she took it. "Thank you."

Solo waved her off. No time to get sentimental. "Come on, let's go check it out."

She frowned, slipping her arms into the parka, and pushed to her feet.

"Leia, keep down," Solo hissed after her when she straightened. They might be on the roof of a building, but it was by no means the tallest one and Solo had no idea who else might be lurking around on the roofs or at windows. It would be great not to advertise their location to everyone who might want to take a potshot at them.

She glared, ducked down. Han scrambled after her across the roof to the far side, dashing behind the cover of the airshaft unit.

What he saw suddenly turned his blood to ice.

"Luke!" the Princess gasped beside him.

The building across the way was shorter by about two levels. It was more rectangular, with no fire escape stairs in sight. Standing square in the middle, glowing sabers locked in a standoff, were two figures, one much taller than the other, black cape flapping in the wind.

With a dizzying blur of blue and red, the lightsabers moved, crashing, the two wielders circling each other. The larger of the two pressed the advantage brought by his tremendous bulk, leaning in, the crackling of the blades audible from where Han and Leia were crouched.

Suddenly, with a blur of movement, Luke rolled, backflipped somehow, and managed to leap clear of Vader's blade. He did not wait for the dark lord to recover from his stumble before he was running toward him, slashing furiously, a blur of blue-white light.

A sharp yell from the young Jedi and it looked for a moment that Luke had disarmed his opponent, hooking Vader's weapon out of his hands and sending it arcing through the air.

As the lightsaber was flying through the air - curiously changing direction and sailing back to Vader's outstretched hand in the process - the Sith lord extended his other hand to Luke's direction just as Luke had raised his own saber to attack. The young man suddenly doubled over with a cry, as if struck, dropping awkwardly to one knee.

Beside Han, the Princess gasped angrily, jerking to her feet, just as Han yanked her back down. She turned to spew venom in his direction, but Solo was already hissing at her to be quiet. "There's nothing we can do for him like this," he muttered angrily. "Don't give away our position and give Vader more ammo by distracting the kid."

Han bit down on his lip, even as he saw Luke regain his feet and swing two-handed to block another blow. He didn't like it, but it was true. "Luke's trained for this. He knows what he's doing."

Leia looked like she was trying to reign in her temper. Solo could see the fear shining in her eyes. She was afraid for Luke. "Where," she asked shakily, "did he learn to fight like that?"

Han glanced at her sidelong. "He's been pretty busy since we left." He again surveyed the roof where they sat, crouched against the airshaft unit, considering. The snow was coming down thickly, layering small white drifts over everything, then promptly scouring away again in a burst of cold wind. They were sitting nerfs if they stayed up here, and no help to Luke at all. If they could get to the speeder, they could get out, past the jamming and call Chewie to come pick them up.

If Luke could hold on that long.

Solo frowned, another burst of wind sending stinging sleet into his face. _That_ was a pessimistic thought.

In any case, staying here wasn't accomplishing anything but to increase their chances of getting caught. He grabbed Leia's hand. It was cold. "It's time to leave this party," he muttered. For once, she had the good sense not to argue with him. "Come on."

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Rieekan and Danlin made it to the third floor without encountering a single soul. By the second floor, they could hear voices - the familiar mechanical, tinny sound of Stormtroopers. Still not knowing the status of their colleagues or how many troopers remained in the building, they beat a hasty retreat back up to the third floor, which appeared to be deserted.

The windows on this level were painted over, completely opaque.

"Are there any back exits from this floor?" he asked Danlin.

Wordlessly, the younger man pulled his pocket navigator, fine, blue hairlines of the building's schematic projecting in a holograph above the silver disc.

A sound from the stairwell made Rieekan jerk in surprise, his blaster immediately pointed at the door. After a long moment of silence, he relaxed slightly.

"Two others sir," Danlin whispered. "Both at the rear of the building."

"What are the odds they aren't being guarded right now?"

"It's worth a shot, sir."

Rieekan chewed his lip for a moment, thumbed his comlink, almost as a nervous habit - static - and nodded shortly. "Okay, let's try the south corner."

For once, the odds were in their favor: the south door wasn't guarded from the inside. Before he shot off the lock, Rieekan considered how many troopers might be waiting to meet them on the other side. He put his ear to the door for a moment: silence.

"Ready?" he whispered.

Danlin swallowed and nodded, his own blaster in his right hand, thumb over the safety.

The shot rang out deafening against the metal and stone of the stairwell, melting the lock with a blinding red flash. Rieekan and Danlin both hugged the wall behind where the old-fashioned hinges would swing if someone pushed the door open from the outside, hearts thudding in their ears.

They waited in tense silence, ten seconds, then twenty.

No one.

Carefully Rieekan pushed away from the wall, nodded curtly to Danlin, and grasped what was left of the door handle. It appeared not to have been opened for some time, corroded as it was to the frame. He gave the door a mighty _pull, _and with a tremendous too-loud shriek of metal, it came free.

A flurry of snow and dead leaves rushed the entrance in an icy puff of wind.

"Freeze!" cried a tinny voice.

Rieekan stopped in his tracks. A single Stormtrooper, heavy carbine aimed squarely at the Rebel General, stood at the door, not five feet back. "Drop your weapon!"

Rieekan did so, leaning to set it carefully on the ground in front of him, careful to keep his hands visible. There were no more troopers in sight.

"Step forward!" barked the voice, menacing. From the corner of Rieekan's eye, he saw Danlin move, position his blaster slowly to the gap in the hinged door.

Rieekan took a step forward, held his breath.

Suddenly a blinding red flash and the trooper collapsed in a heap without even firing a shot.

Rieekan leapt forward, snagging his weapon. Another couple of heartbeats later, it was clear there weren't reinforcements - yet - and he motioned to Danlin.

"Let's go."

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Luke had no plan, was tiring quickly, and felt his options narrowing. He and Vader exchanged blow after blow, the force of the strikes reverberating down his arms until they felt numb with the vibration of the saber and the icy sting of the wind.

"My son," Vader rumbled, parrying another of Luke's over-swings. Luke was getting tired and knew he was getting sloppier.

"You do _not _get to call me that," he hissed through gritted teeth, striking back with three quick jabs to the midsection which the Sith lord barely caught. "A father is more than just blood. It's a title you have to - " _jab, parry, strike - "earn!" _

Luke spun away from Vader's backhanded swing, planting both feet on the slippery, snow-covered surface. The wind slung pelting snow into his face. He blinked rapidly, ignoring the pain of the cold.

"But you are my son," Vader continued, unfazed, advancing on him.

Luke spun, out of reach of the next parry, anger coursing through him, warming him momentarily. "I'm more than a" - _jab, parry -_ "_possession_ to be claimed!"

"Join me," the dark lord continued as if he had not heard Luke at all. The cold did not seem to bother him in that suit. "On the dark side of the Force. Together we could defeat the Emperor and rule as father and - "

"Not_...interested!" _Luke parried furiously in quick succession, _one, two, three, four. _Vader fell back momentarily from the onslaught. Luke's only hope at winning this duel would be to back the sith lord to the edge of the roof. "I will never join you!" He cried, his voice carrying away in the wind. "You have no claim on me!" Vader backstepped again.

Perhaps to both their surprise, Luke got a strike in, his saber catching the edge of Vader's shoulder armor. The dark lord roared in fury and pain, hooking Luke's saber with his own and catching it with enough force as to bat it aside.

That moment was all Vader needed.

In a blur of movement, the crimson saber flashed in front of Luke's eyes, sweeping deftly through Luke's right arm.

Suddenly his world exploded into white hot, searing pain.

It was a long moment of his vision blanking out in knifing agony before Luke could register what was in front of his eyes; realize the sound of someone screaming was his own voice. His right hand, inexplicably, ended at the wrist, the blue glow of his lightsaber arcing away, through the air, sailing over the edge of the building's flat roof, its light burning a line across Luke's vision before it disappeared into the inky darkness beyond.

Luke stared in frozen horror at the stump of his arm, collapsing to his knees in shock, his voice choked off now to a hoarse silence. Then at Vader, also locked in place, lightsaber still activated, pointed now to the ground, thumb over the power button. The agony cutting through Luke's arm and shoulder was so intense he almost blacked out.

It was another long moment before he realized his voice was screaming again, his arm tucked protectively under his left armpit now, his vision beginning to tunnel.

"What - ?" he rasped, voice raw, his eyes glaring daggers at the dark form towering unmoving over him. "What kind of a father - ? " he couldn't finish, for the hot, knifing pain left him gasping, his words ending in another sharp cry.

Vader stood frozen, unmoving, neither taking advantage of the situation by driving his blade home through his now disarmed opponent, nor deactivating the lightsaber.

_What kind of a monster would maim his own son?!_ Luke screamed through the Force, through that connection Vader had sought for so long to make, bombarding Luke's shields from even light-years away. He thought, but could not be sure, that he felt the dark lord flich under the accusation before Luke slammed those shields up again. Thought too, for a moment, he sensed danger; another threat, a siren of warning in his mind. He focused now on the snow-covered roof where he knelt, his knees cold and wet, though, strangely, he could not feel the sting of the icy water soaking through his pant-leg. He used his left hand to push himself unsteadily to his feet, boots sliding for a moment in the snow, shuffling a step away from Vader and the insect-like humming of the lightsaber, blinding now in the low light of dusk, the wind _pushing _at him, howling anguish in his ears.

The edge of the roof was a mere five feet from where he stood.

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They were at the edge of the roof now, easing onto the new set of stairs - without a cable this time - Han noting with satisfaction that on this side of the building they were sheltered on three sides by windowless brick walls, no Stormtrooopers below. They could still hear the crash of sabers over the wind, still see the sparking white flash of light every time the super-heated plasma swords collided, the combattants inching slowly to the far side of the roof.

Han had a hold of Leia's wrist again, leading her down the stairs, gesturing sharply in the direction of the place he and Luke had hidden their speeder. It was not far. They were going to make it. He could -

Suddenly there was an anguished scream - an inhuman sound reverberating between the canyon-walls of the buildings. Han jerked his head up to see Luke, on his knees, arm clutched to his stomach, Vader towering over him like a vengeful demon ready to deliver the death-blow.

"Luke!" Leia cried in terror, all caution about not being noticed completely forgotten. Han stood frozen in place, heart in his throat. Luke was stumbling to his feet, screaming fury at the dark lord, the words carried away in the wind. Vader rumbled a response, still not making a move to deliver the final blow.

_Vader wants him alive. He wants him alive, _Han repeated to himself like a mantra, grasping the princess's wrist again to pull her down, out of the way of potential fire. Her face was stricken, white with cold and shock.

"_Luke!"_

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The wind sliced through the tight weave of his tunic, threatening to topple him. Luke ground his teeth, pushed at the pain. They were four or five stories up, which wasn't exactly his prefered height for jumping, but with the aid of the Force -

"Luke. You do not yet realize your importance," Vader cut into his swirling consciousness. Luke backstepped again, willing his mind to block the pain arcing through his arm, lancing to his shoulder. His chest felt tight - it was starting to feel like he couldn't draw a breath. "Your importance to the Empire. You could rule by my side, as my son."

Luke fumbled clumsily for calm, for the _center _Master Yoda had taught him, shutting out the dark lord's voice. He boxed the pain into a compartment, shut his mind against it. "I'll never join you!" he rasped with an animosity that surprised even him.

Clumsily, he shuffled back another step, Vader moving with him, that red blade still menacing. Luke wondered in the part of his mind completely overrun by wild panic if Vader would go for his other hand.

_What kind of a father…_

He didn't finish the thought. He pushed the fear and blinding pain _down_, away into its small box, lid shut, focused only on the goal a few stumbling steps behind him. With the aid of the Force, he could slow his fall, cushion his landing. By now Han would have gotten Leia _away _from here. He would find a speeder, or a ship. He _would _escape.

Vader was speaking again, rumbling voice forming words Luke couldn't understand, gauntleted fist extended, saber still loosely _en garde._

Immersed in the Force as he was, two things jolted him. The first was Leia's presence very close by - fearful, alarmed, and it was directed at him. Why was she still here and not escaping to the _Falcon _already? The tamped down panic began to creep up into his throat again, distracting him momentarily from the other warning of the Force: _danger, _imminent, deadly, warning him to -

_Duck! -_

His reflexes would have normally been sufficient, but the shock and the pain in his arm were too much for him to work around, and he was not fast enough. The danger came in the form of a blaster bolt, a red flash from a building away, a man taking careful aim from the rooftop, deadly precision.

Distantly, Luke knew Vader had felt it too, but his reaction was too slow to reach Luke, had he even wanted to react, which Luke almost doubted.

Luke had been halfway to taking another step backward when he instead lurched sideways to avoid the blaster bolt, aimed for his heart.

He ducked just as a flash of light and burning pain ripped through his left shoulder, dropping him to the ground. Again his vision whited, but he fought against the unconsciousness grasping at him, rolling over him. A face full of snow, the sense of Vader's rage, and suddenly the Sith lord's laser focus was no longer on Luke, but on the sniper, not immune from the dark lord's wrath even from the distance of the neighboring building.

Luke shut out the man's sudden, violent death, somehow rolled to his knees. He could not hear anything but the blood pounding in his ears, registered the crimson blood staining the pristinely white snow - so much blood - and he crawled, somehow pushed up on one knee without the aid of either arm, each beat of his heart sending agony pulsing through his body. Gray spots in his vision obscured the edge of the roof, but he knew it was there. The Force could bolster him, would keep him upright, slow his fall.

He could do this.

A second roar of outrage from Vader behind him as Luke pitched over the edge, black nothingness below, escaping his dear father at any cost.

Luke would never join him.

His last conscious thought was the realization that he hadn't slowed his fall as well as he had intended, as the ground rushed up at him with alarming speed.

Then the tremendous _bang _thundering in his ears as he hit the ground and the blackness took him.


	19. Chapter 19

Luke went down. The kid had been hit.

From friendly fire.

All this information seemed to percolate in slow motion, Han frozen momentarily in place on the fire escape stair, staring in horror as his friend took a blaster bolt to the chest and then somehow stumbled to his feet again, just as Vader in a fit of fury choked the life from the unseen sniper.

"He's alive," Leia gasped, a sob escaping her. Han did not notice her nails digging through his sleeve into his arm, the tears streaking her face. His horror had frozen everything in treacle, slow-motion, Luke somehow staggering away from Vader. "He - _Luke!"_

Leia lurched forward, her voice a ragged scream as they saw Luke pitch - fall - over the edge of the building, out of sight.

A five-story drop.

"_LUKE!"_ Han's own scream in tandem with Leia's mixed with the roar of outrage from Vader - even the dark lord could not stop the Jedi's suicidal plunge off the building.

Then suddenly they were running, falling down the stairs as fast as they could move, air constricting in Han's throat as he pounded down step after step. They could get to the kid before Vader did, get him out of here. Luke was tough - he could do crazy superhuman things with those Jedi tricks of his. He might be fine. He might walk out of this - live to tell the tale of battling Darth Vader and leaping off a building.

"Han!" Leia's voice snapped warning just as a green blaster bolt lit up the sky uncomfortably close to Solo's eyes. The smuggler reeled, his night-vision destroyed by a gray line torn across his line of sight. Still, he got off four or five shots in that direction to keep their heads down.

_Sitting pittins._

They reached the second floor landing, two more blaster bolts firing from an unknown assailant. Han fired blindly again and this time must have hit something, for there was a sharp cry and the firing stopped.

They reached the ground, a muddy, soupy slurry strewn with garbage and snow, the towering buildings stretching into the sky like canyon walls.

"This way," Han cried, remembering the circuitous route he and Luke had taken from their speeder, hoping it was still there, that the troopers were otherwise distracted.

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Darth Vader momentarily cut the jamming to call the shuttle. The _Executer, _his Super Star Destroyer, freshly minted from the shipyards at Kuat, had been waiting on the dark side of Third Moon, just out of orbit.

"I need a medical team to stand by to prepare for an arrival," he rumbled.

His steady breathing, regulated by machinery, gave no hint to the strange anxiety welling in the pit of his stomach. Luke lived, he could sense that. For the moment. His son's sense in the Force was dim, fading.

Distantly he noticed the boy's friends, panicked and terrified, heading down to intercept his son.

They would be sorely disappointed if they thought they would be able to get to Luke that easily.

Vader slapped the communicator on his chestplate. "Commander," he barked. "Reposition the garrison to the east and west of the passageway at five-seven-two-nine. Send the medic there immediately."

The short bark of acknowledgement and Vader turned to make his way down the building.

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The speeder was still there, under the snow-covered tarp whose edges fluttered lightly in the wind. Solo reached the vehicle in two long strides, flung the tarp out of the way. "Get in!" He snapped to Leia.

The Princess was already palming the door, ducking in.

Han dropped into the seat, throwing the speeder into reverse before the door had even sealed shut. "Hang on," he muttered. Luke had fallen from the far side of the opposite building. It would be a race to find out who got to him first.

"Hurry," Leia hissed beside him. "Hurry, Han."

Solo nodded, too focused to formulate a response. The speeder shot out of the alley in reverse. Peripherally, he noted two small clusters of stormtroopers react in surprise, and slowly bring their weapons to bear.

Han didn't wait for them to get the chance. He abruptly reversed direction, weaving erractly to avoid the blaster fire behind them.

Leia slammed into the side of the speeder with a cry of surprise. "Do you have to drive like a drunkard?" She snapped, fumbling for a handhold.

Solo gunned it forward. "Sorry sweetheart, but this isn't the kind of military-grade vehicle you might be used to. No shields or weaponry. I'm trying to avoid getting shot."

He skidded around the corner of the building where they'd seen Luke jump. It was a wide alleyway that couldn't quite be considered an actual street. His eyes scanned the dark, the speeder's navigator lights illuminating -

Leia cried out, "Watch out!"

Then he saw, in the gloom: Standing in front of them, just at the edge of the light, were two rows of Imperial Stormtroopers, blocking the alley, all with blasters aimed.

Solo screeched to a halt.

Luke must be behind that trooper barricade. There was a cluster of people behind the row of troopers, moving quickly, though Solo didn't see Vader's dark bulk. Even if the kid were alive, they had no way of getting to him at this point. In fact, it looked like the jig was up.

Muffled through the closed transparisteel windows, a voice over a loudspeaker ordered them to exit their vehicle or be fired upon.

"Leia?" Solo asked, without turning his head, his fingers tense on the controls. "What's our next move?"

"We're not surrendering," she hissed, voice tight, expression fixed ahead. Solo scanned the alley. It was wider, which would allow for a little - not much - maneuvering.

"Time to try to pilot this thing like the hotshot you claim to be." She didn't have to say it, Solo knew. They couldn't help Luke. He could hear the pain in her voice.

"Okay," Han muttered, fingers twitching over the joystick. "Hang on." He threw the speeder into reverse again in a screech of servos, weaving in a nauseating serpentine toward the entrance of the alley.

Blaster fire rained down, blinding, pelting the speeder, shooting through the back passenger viewport. But, like a maniac, Solo kept going.

They catapulted back out onto the dark street, this time going in the opposite direction from where they'd come. With his free hand, he freed the comlink from his pocket, thumbed the toggle.

"Chewie!" he snapped, knowing it would do him little good.

"Han!" Leia gasped, eyes locked into the nearly black sky.

Solo managed a glance. Running lights in a familiar triangle pattern, red and gold.

A ship was landing and it wasn't the Alliance's.

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Vader arrived composed, seemingly unhurried, to a scene of mayhem. The cluster of white-armored troopers stood, weapons ready, parting for him like a strange white sea in the darkness as he approached.

There, in the center, in olive gray fatigues and parka, lit only by two hastily-assembled work lamps, the medic was bent over a crumpled figure in the snow, barking orders to those around him.

Vader's mechanical breath caught in his throat.

Lying in the shadows, scarlet blood staining the snow beneath his head and shoulders, was Luke. His mutilated arm was sprawled away from his body, eyes closed, jaw slack. He looked dead. Vader felt the boy's life force...dim. But _he was not dead_.

"What is the diagnosis, medic?" he rumbled impatiently as he approached the scene, gazing guardedly down at his son. A trickle of blood ran from Luke's ear. The charred, bleeding wound on his shoulder was a dark crimson in the shadow of the emergency lamps. The boy's leg was turned at an odd angle.

The medic barely glanced up as he gingerly snapped a white cervical collar around Luke's neck, handing his assistant the small scanner. "It's too soon to tell, my Lord."

Vader closed his hand in a tight fist. "Will he live?"

A pause. The medic looked up, locked eyes with the dark face plate, expression grim. "It's too soon to tell."

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Weaving precariously down a narrow side-street, Han practically threw the comlink in Leia's lap. "See if they're still jamming us. Call Chewie," he hollered. "Rebels - whoever."

Her fingers closed on the device. "There are two X-Wings in orbit - stowed in a luxury yacht in - "

"Fat good that'll do us if they don't know to come help," Solo growled.

Up ahead were two figures, staggering into the street, blasters drawn, notably _not _dressed in Stormtrooper armor, but very clearly military...were they flagging him down? A shot-up speeder was not exactly hitchhiker material -

"General Rieekan!" gasped Leia, just as Han began to recognize the taller of the two, salt-and-pepper hair glowing in the speeder's running lights.

What in blazes was Rieekan doing here? "Is this some kind of intergalactic war reunion?" Han muttered. "Who's next - Mon Mothma?"

"Hardly," Leia retorted, Han screeching to a stop next to the two men. He palmed the controls so the rear door - shot to pieces - slid open.

"Get in!"

Both men tumbled in wordlessly, Rieekan digging his fingers into the back of the pilot seat as Solo floored the accelerator with seemingly little regard for whether his passengers had boarded or not. "It's a little air-conditioned back there - our apologies for that," he shouted over the wind. "We ran into a couple of punks who took some potshots at us."

Rieekan grimaced, his hair whipping in the wind. "Thanks for the lift."

Han knew Leia was still watching the descent of the Imperial shuttle in the rear-vid camera. A cold stone had settled in the pit of his stomach and stayed there. Either Luke was dead, or else he was alive, and now Darth Vader's prisoner. And there was nothing they could do about it but try to save their own skins and live to fight another day.

Suddenly there was an electronic squeal over the rush of the wind, the light on the comlink in Leia's hand flashing green.

Han jerked in surprise. "Chewie?"

She raised the comlink to her mouth. "Chewie - is that you?"

A static roar. Solo snatched the comlink from the Princess' grip. "Come in pal. We need pickup now. Can you track our location?"

The Wookiee growled an affirmative. But he would not be able to make a landing in the canyon.

"Fine. We'll stay out of the canyon if you hurry. We've got a whole lot of trigger-happy Stormtroopers waiting to turn us into hot slag if you don't get here fast, though."

An anguished howl. Han tossed the comlink back.

Behind him, Rieekan was coming to a similar realization that his comlink was functional again. "...Need reinforcements immediately," he growled into it, just audible over the rush of wind.

Leia twisted in her seat. "There's an Imperial shuttle just landed, bearing five-seven-two-nine. Vader has Luke."

Rieekan's eyes widened. "Vader is on the shuttle?"

"We don't know - but Luke might be. We have to stop the shuttle without destroying it."

"Vader might be on the shuttle, bearing five-seven-two-nine," the general repeated to his comlink.

"Copy," said the voice on the other end. "We'll direct our firepower on the shuttle."

"No!" Leia whirled. "Do _not_ fire on that ship. If Luke's still alive, he's on that shuttle. Do not fire!"

Rieekan fixed his hard gaze on the Princess. "Are you sure he's alive?"

She shook her head, one hand going up to brush at the long, tangled strands of hair that had come loose, whipping across her face. Han realized it was a cover for swiping at the tears that were falling. "I - we don't know." Her voice was strong, not betraying the look Solo could see in her eyes. "Don't destroy it. He might still be alive and taken prisoner. We can get him back."

Rieekan's hard expression, boring a hole through Leia, did not change.

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The dark shape of the Imperial shuttle settled into the empty street, throwing snow outward in a furious wind that suddenly whipped through the alleyway. Vader's cape snapped away. The dark lord, his focus only on his son, looked down at Luke, seeing him still unmoving, his hair ruffling in the wind, skin waxen gray.

The medic, with the help of two of his assistants had lifted the young man carefully onto the fold-out stretcher, and was now rummaging through his fieldcase. "He's showing signs of traumatic brain injury and probable skull fracture. I'm going to have to intubate before we board the ship."

Vader exhaled in a hiss, turned away, an unexpected pang hitting him in the solar plexus. "Do what is necessary," he said finally.

He turned to the garrison commander. "You will leave the troops here, track down the remaining Rebels. Take them alive."

"Yes sir."

A sound, a low whine, started up over the rush of the wind. Vader cocked his head to one side, listening. It was the sound of approaching ships. They were not Imperial.

"Sir! Enemy fighters incoming, bearing six-seven-oh-three."

Vader whipped around, scanning the scene behind him; the medic, taping down the IV and handing off the saline bag to his assistant, still standing, then moving to Luke's head, laryngoscope in hand.

He turned back. "Send three squadrons on my mark."

"Sir!" the trooper saluted smartly.

"Medic," Vader rumbled, stepping closer to his son's inert body. "We must evacuate now. Can he be moved?"

The medic repositioned the endotracheal tube in his hand and shook his head. "This is a delicate procedure. If we are in a potential combat situation on board the ship, I may not be able to intubate."

The steady whine of Rebel ships grew closer. And if they were strafed by laser fire where they stood? Vader gritted his teeth. "How much time do you need?"

The medic was already positioning the oxygen mask over Luke's face, uncoiling the tubing. "Give me two minutes."

The ships' roar came directly overhead, the bright streak of laser cannon fire lighting up the sky. The ground shook with three near-hits and the ships streaked by overhead, coming around for another pass.

Vader clenched his fists. They were aiming for the shuttle. It seemed that the Alliance had no very great love for his son after all, if they were willing to risk the boy's life to get a shot at his own.

"Where are the TIEs?" he snapped to his commander, whirling away again, mostly to avoid having to watch the medic work on his son.

"My Lord, they are on their way!"

As if in response, the familiar, welcome whine of TIEs came into range, shot by overhead. The thunder of laser fire echoed in the distance.

"Sir, they are prepared to escort you to the Executor," the commander reported.

Vader turned again to the medic, taping down the vent tube and tucking the small oxygenator under his son's arm. "We're ready," he announced, activating the life-support cocoon, glancing momentarily up at the dark lord, gesturing for four soldiers to lift the corners of the gurney. With a hiss, the blue-tinged force field sprang to life in a protective shield around the narrow cot.

Determined not to look in the boy's direction again, Vader led the way to the shuttle's open ramp, the stormtroopers once again falling back.

Parting for the Imperial dark lord and his son.

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The X-Wings - only two of them, which made Leia suddenly wish she'd agreed to Madine's insistence that they bring a half-squadron as backup - banked into the atmosphere in a blur of running lights and a sonic boom that jolted them in their seats.

A rain of laser fire strafed down upon the street where the shuttle rested.

"Whoa, whoa, what's the big idea?" Han cried, turning the speeder sharply. They were circling back through the narrow roads, watching for the _Falcon, _avoiding pockets of Stormtroopers.

Leia whirled to Rieekan. "Tell them to back off - they are not to destroy that ship!" she shouted.

The General had a pained expression on his face. "Princess - " He looked like he was placating her. "If Luke _is _even alive - you said yourself it's highly probable that he is _not _\- we cannot risk him falling to Vader. The risk of losing him to the Empire - " he broke off awkwardly.

Leia felt the blood drain from her face. She felt hot suddenly, even through the icy chill of the wind whipping through the cabin. _Rieekan too? _She thought desperately. Not a single person was on Luke's side? After all that had happened?

"No," she said in a low voice, shaking her head. Now she was starting to shiver uncontrollably. "No, you can't kill him. You _can't! _Not like this!"

She glanced from Rieekan to Han, piloting intently, bloodless knuckles gripping the controls, and back to the general.

"Maybe that's what they were plotting all along," Solo muttered to the viewport. "Get him in their sights and take him out. Huh, Rieekan? The assassin on the roof?"

Leia's gaze on the general hardened, hot indignant anger flooding through her limbs. "That shot was from one of _our _people?" she whispered.

Rieekan dropped his gaze.

"You _knew_ about this?"

"I knew it as a contingency plan," Rieekan replied in a low voice, eyes flicking back up to her. "A last resort if you were in danger. I did not authorize the individuals assigned."

"_Who did?"_ her voice was escalating in pitch now. "Was it Madine or Mon Mothma?"

The general's gaze dropped to the floor again.

"I was in danger," Leia's voice was now, barely audible over the rush of the wind. She was glaring daggers at Rieekan. "_Luke_ is the one who came to rescue me. No one else from the Alliance. He put himself in danger and got captured by Vader to do that."

Rieekan met her eyes again, his face stricken. "I accept complete responsibility, Princess."

"Then call off those ships," she snapped, face hot. Her limbs felt numb and tingly, like she was not getting enough air. She felt like she could snap, launch herself at the man and throttle him for taking her friend from her.

Rieekan didn't move.

"General?" It was Han's voice. The X-Wings were coming around again for another pass. Closer now, the sound thundering through her bones, more laser fire streaking a line through the dark.

If they'd hit it, the explosion would have lit up the night, she reminded herself, forcing herself to breathe past the fear constricting her throat.

"Heads up, two-o'clock," Han snapped. She craned her neck to see.

"TIE fighters."

"And we've got the _Falcon _coming in just ahead," Han gestured, pointing again to the comlink in her fist. "Tell him landing coordinates five-oh-oh-eight. Rieekan, how 'bout your X-Wings do something useful and give the _Falcon _some cover?"

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The shuttle began its ascent just as the pair of Rebel X-Wings were coming around for another pass.

Darth Vader stood in the cockpit long enough to ascertain that they were easily routed by the four TIEs on their tail, just as seven more of the small ships appeared, settling into a V formation flanking the shuttle.

_All too easy. _

The Rebels, try as they might, had no hope of retrieving Skywalker. They were vastly outnumbered even before one factored in the Super Star Destroyer waiting just in-system.

Vader spun on his heel, walking the narrow corridor to the troop bay, scarcely noticing the troop captain stepping quickly out of his path or the pilot's voice over the com, ordering the passengers to secure their restraints.

The gurney, with its occupant hidden under the crinkled foil of an emergency blanket, the shimmer of the life-support pod casting a blue glow in the dimly lit bay, was secured next to the right-side troop bench, the medic seated beside his assistant, locking his flight restraints in place and scanning the feed. The faint hiss of the oxygen breather could be heard over the whine of the engines. The boy was being kept alive on a ventilator.

_Like father, like son._

"Is he stable?" the dark lord asked the medic, who jumped in spite of himself, eyes darting up to the figure towering over him.

Still, the dark-haired medical officer seemed to pull himself together rather quickly. "My lord, we may be able to stabilise him if we get him into surgery within the hour."

Vader nodded shortly. "Inform the surgeons aboard the _Executor_ to expect us. He is to have the highest-level care possible."

"Yes, my lord."

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Well _this _was starting to feel familiar, Han thought sourly as the _Falcon _touched down, ramp already extending. He skidded the speeder to a halt in a cloud of powdery snow, smacked the hatch controls.

The four of them tumbled out, the throbbing rumble of approaching fighters overhead thrumming through him, and staggered up the ramp, wind whipping past them.

The two X-Wings were keeping the TIEs back momentarily. Han figured they had about thirty seconds, but he intended to take full advantage of it.

He smacked the ramp controls. "Chewie, go!" He shouted. He hooked a finger at Rieekan. "Take a gunner cockpit. You," he gestured sharply at the young man he didn't recognize, who hadn't said a word since they picked him up out of the street. "Other gunwell. Leia, cockpit with me."

The ship rose unsteadily, jerking slightly as something hit the shields directly. Han seized Leia's hand - had he done that two, no three times already today? - pulled her down the corridor.

"We have to try to stop that shuttle," she said, breathless, falling into the seat behind Han's as they entered the cockpit.

Chewie was pulling the _Falcon_ out of the atmosphere, ahead of four TIEs and two X-Wings in pursuit, the winds buffeting them.

"I hate to say it, but I don't know how you're going to do it without shooting it down," Solo muttered as he secured his restraints, hands roaming over the controls. The shuttle in the distance was lifting off. Chewie rumbled something he didn't catch.

"You've got at least three squadrons of TIEs." They weren't firing on them yet, but he figured it was only a matter of time. "We're three measly little ships and we don't - "

He broke off, as the dark side of the moon came fully into view.

There, in the black, sunless shadow, yet somehow completely visible, an outline with a thousand tiny pinpricks of light, a great arrowhead of durasteel and firepower, sat the biggest ship he'd ever seen.

"A Super Star Destroyer," Leia breathed behind him, her voice awed. "Vader's, it must be. There was a rumor one was being built on Kuat - "

"_Falcon,_ do you copy?" a familiar voice chirped at Han's elbow.

Solo turned, his eyes darting to the screen where both X-Wings registered on his scopes. The TIEs behind were beginning to fall back, take up formation around the shuttle. They weren't even going to bother trying to engage them in battle.

"Wedge?"

"Star Destroyer up ahead," Wedge answered. "I show the distance to be in range of their tractor beams fifteen seconds at this trajectory."

The shuttle just ahead continued its majestic arc toward the waiting wedge-shaped behemoth.

"I think it's safe to say we're outnumbered," Solo announced grimly. On the planet below, the second wave of TIE fighters rose up into space, arcing toward the mammoth ship.

"I don't think there's any way we can engage," Wedge agreed.

"Luke is most likely on that shuttle," Han muttered into the com. He pursed his lips grimly at the startled string of curse words that erupted from the other Corellian.

Luke still had some allies in the Alliance.

"I don't think there's any way we can get to him like this."

_Live to fight another day._

Han was silent. Peripherally, he was aware that Leia behind him had gone silent. The rock that had settled into his stomach since he'd seen Luke standing on the roof battling Vader had only seemed to become heavier. "Chewie, set course for hyperspace."

Solo twisted back, seeing the Princess's features, twisted in grief. He suddenly wanted to take her into his arms and hold her. He asked softly. "Coordinates?"

She expelled a breath, a gust of air, of desperation and shook her head. "Muundi," she whispered, swallowing.

Chewie slapped at the navicomputer, computing the course, relaying the coordinates to the two X-Wings, while Han nodded, turned his attention again to the ships before them. They peeled back to avoid getting caught in the Star Destroyer's tractor beam, a long arc away from the shuttle and the out-sized Star Destroyer.

"Live to fight another day," he whispered to himself as much as Leia.

The navicomp beeped the signal that the coords were set.

Wordlessly, eyes still on the scanners, he saw Chewie pull back on the levers to the blur of hyperspace, and he mentally sent Luke his apology.

He had tried to protect the kid, tried to keep him from his father, save him from himself.

He'd failed on all accounts.

Solo turned back to Leia, seeing her expression frozen in grief. He reached for her, pulling her to him. She did not resist

Then he did fold her into his arms, tightly. Held her as she cried.


	20. Chapter 20

Thank you everyone for all the reviews and follows. Hope you are all staying safe out there! -T.

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He stood in a close room, dull durasteel walls and floor, few furnishings, military, no-nonsense, tall viewport looking into the blackness of vast, unoccupied space. He'd been standing, rooted to this very spot for some time now, drifting, the intensity of his gaze fixed on the furled cluster of stars in the distance, the intensity of his emotions a pulsing knot of uncertainty and anger in his stomach.

The medical personnel had been hesitant in how to handle him. Never in their careers working on the same ship as the Emperor's unpredictable, quite often angry, henchman, had they had to work around Vader's intense concern that an injured soldier - much less one from the opposite side of the conflict - receive the best medical care possible. Never had they encountered their superior officer pacing in what appeared to be a state of heightened anxiety near the closed doors of the surgical bay or refuse to leave the medical unit.

He felt their burning questions, and he brushed them off. What his subordinates believed or wondered was completely irrelevant, so long as they held themselves to the highest professional standards in regard to the care of his son.

_His son._

He'd commandeered a small office suite a short distance from the surgery when the shuttle had arrived and the surgical team had boarded, whisking the injured man on the medical gurney away, down the gunmetal-gray corridors, past the closed blast doors of the main medical bay. The set of three small rooms may have been used as a breakroom for the medical staff, sparse though the furnishings were. Naturally there were no objections to whatever it was Vader wished to do. The few occupants of the suite had scattered upon the dark lord's arrival.

Vader had ordered his incompetant Admiral, Ozzel, to make a short hyperspace jump from the Tintian system minutes after they had boarded. He would not give the Rebels the satisfaction of being able to bring reinforcements around to try to recapture Skywalker.

There the Super Star Destroyer drifted, in empty space, as it had for the past sixteen hours.

There the second in command of the entire Imperial navy stood, still as a statue, having informed his primary aide, waiting in the corridor, that he was not to be disturbed under any circumstances except upon news of contact from the Emperor or updates regarding the unnamed soldier taken into surgery.

He could feel the aide's confusion, could feel the crew's bafflement, their impatience at being suspended in deep space without orders or explanation. He could feel his own weariness, his agitation, noted his seeming inability to take a seat, to take leave of the small rooms and return to the greater comforts of his personal quarters.

He ignored it all.

He reached out through the Force, fumbling briefly to catch the light-infused presence of his son. That presence was familiar, more recognizable over the last several months. Normally, it felt blinding, compelling Vader's full attention, especially in such close proximity. Now, however, it remained diffuse, as it had when the boy had leapt off the building, becoming diaphanous and nearly intangible to Vader's sense in the Force.

That ghost-like whisper of his son's presence was what kept the dark lord standing in the small office, his heart gripped in an uncomfortable vice. The questions swirled in his consciousness, emotions he was not yet able to form into words or coherent thought.

It was decidedly unpleasant.

But still he could not turn away, could not pull his mind into attending to other duties until he knew the outcome, until he _knew _that the boy would recover, become well again.

Strangely, he could not allow his mind to begin to address the possibility that it might not be so.

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The Alliance base on the small, water-logged planet of Muundi was damp and mouldering. It started life as an old smuggler's base, long since abandoned because of the frequent flooding on the lower levels, and expensive repairs due to the water damage. Trust the Alliance to snap it up - valuable real estate that no one else could possibly have use for.

Han trudged through the lower-level corridor, cringing at the damp smell of mildew and the swinging shadows cast by worn-out sodium bulbs strung from the corrugated ceiling. His boots tracked muddy footprints on the slick, water-logged duracrete.

He'd docked the ship next to rows of snub-fighters in the open bay, camouflaged as a thick forest canopy and covered at the tops of trees by a stealth cloak that would scramble Imperial scanners at a four-hundred-foot radius. He'd watched the Princess storm out of the _Falcon_ the moment the ramp touched the ground_,_ Rieekan on her heels, trying in vain to reason with her.

Han had followed, after giving Chewie very specific instructions about what he could and could not do to the ship in his absence, and who he could, and could not allow on board. By then, Leia had disappeared from sight, and Han, unfamiliar with this strange new base, wasn't exactly sure where she had gone. He only knew he needed to find her and do it quickly, before she killed someone.

He was in a murderous mood himself, though, so maybe he wasn't the best candidate for the job.

He passed a crewman he thought he recognized - Issen? Ossen? - and snagged the man's sleeve. "You see the Princess come through here just a few minutes ago? Hopping mad?"

The man did a double-take at Solo, and actually back-stepped, his expression deepening into a perplexed frown. Han belatedly remembered the _Falcon'_s spectacular exit off of Melsinor. Like it or not, it had probably made an impression on everyone who'd been on-base at the time. "Sure," the crewman answered. "She just went up the stairs there. Debriefing room is in the third corridor on the right."

Han bolted past. "Thanks pal."

"You working with the Alliance again?" the crewman called after him, but Solo didn't hear him.

He bounded up the stairs two at a time, followed the corridor around to where a lone soldier was standing guard at the door.

"I'm sorry, but this is a restricted area. Command is in the middle of a meeting - " The man's eyes widened in recognition. "Solo!"

Han knew the soldier - Dack, a rookie pilot who'd just signed on a few months ago - he'd been friends of a sort with Luke, initiated into his same squadron.

He pushed past the startled soldier. "To hell with their meeting," he hissed. "The princess is on a rampage."

He pushed open the door, taking in momentarily the long room, the overgrown green and blue foliage past the fogged window, the makeshift conference table at the center, circled by a variety of beings, seated, faces masked with calm indifference. To his right stood the rumpled figure of Rieekan and the diminutive Princess, her eyes ablaze.

No one even noticed Han had entered the room. All eyes were fixed on Leia. Her arms were folded defensively, she was stalking toward the table.

"_You,"_ she took in each of their faces individually, accusing, angry, absolutely betrayed. "You all did this to him. You are the reason he was captured - "

"Princess," Rieekan murmured in warning, his hand moving to catch her sleeve.

" - You are the reason he no has to face Vader and the Emperor, _severely injured -_ "

"Leia - "

" - and _you _are all going to fix this!"

There was silence for a moment. No one moved. Gradually, Mon Mothma's cool gaze came to rest on Han.

"Is there something you require, Captain Solo?"

Han adjusted his stance, aware that all eyes were now on him, that the hot glare of the Princess was boring into his skull, daring him to say something to challenge her or make her back down.

"I'm here to support the Princess," he said full-voice. "I'm a, uh, witness to the Imperial ambush and the Alliance's assassination attempt on Luke Skywalker."

There was a low murmur among the occupants of the table. Apparently this was news to some on the council.

"Assassination attempt?" Mon Mothma asked politely, her sculpted eyebrows arching.

"He was shot by a sniper from the roof of a neighboring building," Leia's voice dripped bitterness. "By one of _our _people." She flattened her palms against the table and glared at the Alliance leader. "Don't seem so surprised, Mon. I know you and Madine authorized this."

There was an eruption in voices, a mixture of outrage and surprise, Dodonna and Telcarre gaining their feet. Mon Mothma continued to gaze unflinchingly at Leia. Her eyes flicked momentarily to Rieekan, who stood stone-faced, his expression fixed on the center of the conference table.

"This is unfortunate that we find ourselves in this predicament," Mon Mothma's voice cut in over the mayhem. "I can assure you that I have no idea what you are talking about. I have authorized no such assassination attempt on Luke Skywalker's life."

"If you - " Leia started, eyes still burning fire, but she was cut off by the Alliance leader.

"If though, as you say, he was shot, we should ascertain that he is even still alive and actually captured by Vader."

"That was your strategy, wasn't it?" Leia snapped hotly. "Get rid of him. Preferably before the Empire could get to him."

Mon Mothma folded her hands neatly on the table. A muscle in her cheek twitched. "It is understandably a priority that we not let a potential weapon like Luke Skywalker fall into the wrong hands."

Han felt hot anger creep over his face and down his collar. Leia suddenly lurched forward, just as Rieekan caught her arm in a vice-like grip, kept her from striking the older woman. "Luke Skywalker is not a _weapon,_" she snarled, voice raw. Mon Mothma's words were tantamount to an admission of guilt. "He is not a tool to be used to hurt Vader. He has always ever been loyal to the Alliance. He destroyed the Death Star, he's devoted to our cause. And now _you_ have betrayed him. You have injured him and put him in a position where he is now unable to defend himself or escape from Vader's clutches.

"Is he even still alive?" Mon's cool seemed to crack just slightly. Han realized belatedly the Alliance leader had fully expected Luke to be dead, had counted on it in fact. "You said yourself he fell from a five-story building after he was shot. I hate to be the bearer of unfortunate information, Princess, but it is highly unlikely that anyone could have survived such a fall."

"You would like to hope for that, wouldn't you?" Leia snapped. "But he is alive. I _know_ he is still alive."

There was an uncomfortable silence in the room, a stillness during which Leia seemed to gather herself, bring all her regal training and senatorial calm to bear, her shoulders straightening. No one questioned how she knew Luke was still alive. No one else spoke. "_You _caused this," she said in a low voice, her gaze now taking in all the occupants at the table. "If Luke Skywalker is turned into a Sith Lord like the likes of Vader, the Alliance is finished. You know that or you wouldn't have gone so far out of your way to kill him before Vader got to him. Nevertheless, you caused this. And _you_ are going to fix this."

There was another moment of tense silence.

"And what do you suggest, Princess?" The voice was Madine's. The general's expression was hard, impenetrable. The man didn't say it, but he could have. _Another assassination attempt?_

Leia speared him with her glare. Madine was clearly not to be trusted. "I need a team put together. _I _will choose the people on it. I need ships and equipment." She took a deep breath, decided now. "This team and I will go to Coruscant. We will station in a safehouse until the _Executor _arrives with Luke."

"What makes you so certain Coruscant will be their destination?" Cracken asked, the lines on his face a craggy frown.

She gave him a scornful look. "The Emperor wants Luke just as badly as Vader does."

"And once he arrives?"

Leia clenched her fist. "We get him out."

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Darth Vader felt the grim purpose in the mind of the approaching doctor long before he came through the bay doors and indicated to Vader's aide that he had news for the dark lord.

Vader was already approaching the exit as the aide entered, jumping as he nearly collided with his superior.

"You have news," the dark lord rumbled.

"Sir, the surgeon is here to speak with you."

As if on cue, a disheveled-looking middle-aged man appeared at the doorway, his green surgery apron still tied over his medical uniform. "My lord," he stood at attention.

"You may enter," Vader granted, allowing the doctor to step past the threshold, the door hissing shut behind him.

"Sir, I have news of the…" he hesitated. "The rebel soldier."

"Continue." Vader made a point to stand very still, to appear unconcerned. A small part of his mind questioned why he felt the need to make that impression…

"Sir, the Rebel - "

"His name is Luke. Luke Skywalker."

The doctor swallowed, recognition dawning in those intelligent eyes, as though he had just pieced together the last bit of the puzzle. "Yes sir," he said quickly, breaking his gaze from meeting Vader's penetrating stare. "As you know, in addition to the blaster wound and the," he hesitated again, "_injury_ to his right hand, he has sustained a skull fracture, which resulted in an acute subdural hematoma - a brain bleed. We believe the surgery to evacuate the hemorrhage was successful, but we won't know the extent of the damage and what it means for his recovery for at least several more days."

Vader was still a few moments. "What do you mean you don't know?" he asked, hearing his voice drop dangerously in volume.

The surgeon swallowed again. Beads of sweat were beginning to form on his forehead. He was clearly nervous. "Sir, the brain is a very complicated organ. Severe trauma has resulted in hemorrhaging and more swelling. The patient arrived unresponsive, but still able to breathe on his own. That is very encouraging. But at the moment, he is still unconscious. Only time will tell if, when, and how he'll come out of the resultant coma."

This answer was less than satisfactory. Vader briefly considered choking the life out of this incompetant, but realized his usefulness was not quite at an end - at least until his son recovered. "I wish to see him."

The man flinched. "Ah, Lord Vader, that would not be advisable quite yet. He is just out of surgery and they are stabilising him - "

"I wish to see him _now,"_ Vader cut him off.

The surgeon blanched visibly, sketched a half-bow. "O-of course, my Lord. Follow me."

Vader followed behind the man, his fists clenched, hearing the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears. They walked through the starkly-lit corridors, walls and floors polished to a pewter gleam. Medical personnel and droids parted like a sea when they saw who was coming through. Vader ignored them all.

He was led through another set of blast doors, these keyed with a code from the surgeon. An old-model medic droid stood at a high counter. "Greetings, sir."

"This way," the doctor gestured, indicating a curtained-off area. Vader stepped forward, the doctor forgotten. Behind the curtain several people and a droid were moving swiftly, shuffling, muttering orders. The persistent beep and low tones of several pieces of equipment sounded over their voices. Through it all, Vader could sense that translucent, ephemeral sense of Luke's faint presence, just past the drape…

He threw open the curtain. The people behind it froze where they stood, staring at him in shock. But the dark lord did not see them, did not even notice they were there. The only thing he saw was the pale figure on the large bed, eyes closed, head wrapped in a turban of white bandages, the ventilator tube taped over his mouth. More bandages covered his left shoulder over the blaster wound. Both arms rested over the light gray coverlet that came just past his waist, the right one heavily bandaged where it ended at the stump. Cardiac leads and the IV led to a tangled nest of wires just out of sight.

The surgeon, meantime, seemed to have regained his composure. "Gentleman," he addressed the trio of frozen medics, his voice quite calm. "Lord Vader wishes to personally oversee the patient's recovery."

There was momentary silence, save for the continued beep of the heart monitor and whatever-else monitors they had that made an infernal noise. Vader appraised the curtained ward, noting the row of empty beds just past the opposite drape.

"Skywalker is to be placed in a private room," he rumbled. "Immediately,"

A delay in reaction, then the medical personnel seemed to suddenly thaw and snap back to life. "Immediately, my Lord."

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It was some four hours that had passed, Luke now ensconced in the private medical suite: glass walls looking directly out to the ICU's medic station, a small vertical viewport looking out to the black emptiness of space, a 'private fresher, and a small fold-out sofa in the corner of the room. The bed, semi-reclining, surrounded by beeping, flashing medical equipment, dominated the small room, as did its occupant, still unconscious.

"Is there anything you require, sir?" the medical droid stationed near the head of the patient's bed inquired.

"No."

"Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to sit down, sir?" the droid persisted, gesturing with slender-jointed arms to the sofa and plastene chair near the wall.

Vader felt a swell of irritation, fighting down the impulse to tear one of those arms off with the Force. "Attend to your patient and leave me in peace," he snapped.

The doctor - a new one this time, one who looked entirely too young to hold the fate of Vader's son in his hands - had come in briefly an hour or two before and explained that the boy was in a coma. With exaggerated patience, he had described the potential time-frame of such a state, as well as several possible outcomes, most of which were quite grim: he could remain in the coma for some time. He could progress to a persistent vegetative state where he might open his eyes, move, but have no real awareness. From there, if they were lucky, he could progress to a minimally conscious state with some awareness. Even if he made a recovery, the boy may suffer irreversible neurological damage.

Vader had stood, listening to the medic list the possibilities until the man had run out of words. The dark lord had kept his unmoving gaze on the still occupant of the medical bed, not turning, not answering, his thoughts in a turmoil.

Finally, hesitantly, with a quiet sigh, the medic had departed from the room, leaving him again alone with the boy.

The medical team did not understand the power of the Force; the ability of those who used it to move past the crude needs of the human body and rise again, to quickly recover their former strength. His son was a Jedi, capable of healing himself.

His son _would _recover.

"My Lord?" In his reverie he had almost missed the presence of his aide, approaching from the long corridor, uncharacteristically nervous, even for him.

Vader turned, coolly regarding the graying man in the olive dress-uniform. "What is it?"

"It's the Emperor, sir. He wishes to speak with you right away."

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Wedge Antilles was sprawled on a metal chair, elbows on the table, a half-empty glass in front of him and a half-empty bottle at arm's-length. He should stand up, while he was still capable of remaining vertical, walk to his bunk room and go to sleep. That was what a sensible person would do.

Instead he downed the shot of gin and poured himself another glass.

"Wedge, you look like hell." The voice, coming from his right, materialized into the form of Han Solo, sidling up on the tall stool across from him. Before the pilot could protest, Solo snatched a glass from the empty table nearby and seized the bottle.

"Hey," Wedge frowned, dismayed to hear the way he drawled the word, as though his jaw had become disconnected. "Tha's mine."

The other Correllian tossed back the alcohol. "You look like you've had enough for one night. Besides," he shifted, his own elbows on the table, leaning forward conspiratorially. "I want to make sure you understand what I'm about to ask you before you're too fall-down drunk to remember what you agreed to."

Wedge wiped the edges of his mouth. He wasn't about to agree to anything. "It's not that I don't trust you, Solo…."

"Yeah, pal, well I trust you and I want you to listen up good. It's about Luke."

Wedge froze. The whole debacle over Tintian IV was the reason he was getting drunk in the first place. Something wasn't adding up with what Command had said about Luke leaving with Han a few months ago. And now that he knew his friend had been on the shuttle _he'd _taken shots at, had been captured by Vader to face down a brutal interrogation….

He shook himself free, downed the remaining gin in his glass. He wanted to erase it all - this whole stupid war, remembering friends he'd lost. Wanted it all to fade away into a comfortable, alcohol-soaked oblivion.

"I don't wanna talk about Luke," he muttered, shifting, rising to leave.

Solo seized his sleeve and pulled him back down, expression intense now. "We're talking about him, okay? The kid's not dead. Leia...says she knows he's not dead, even after that fall."

Wedge sneered as his image of Han split into two. "Really?" He laughed angrily. "He's with Vader now. If he's not dead yet, he's gonna be soon."

The smuggler slapped him. Hard.

The pilot reeled, falling back into his seat, stars sparking in his vision. Solo didn't wait for him to recover. "We're getting a reconnaissance team together. We're going to get Luke out of there." His voice lowered. "We need people we trust. Are you in?"

Wedge blinked, feeling clearer for a moment, hopeful. Reconnaissance? Getting Luke Skywalker out of Vader's leather clutches? "How in the galaxy're you gonna do _that_, Solo?"

Han straighted, lopsided smile coming to his features. "So you're in, then?"

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The raised dais lit up in a glowing white ellipse as Vader knelt, the blue-tinged hologram appearing before him, towering above him in the air.

Emperor Palpatine appeared, semi-translucent, yellow eyes peering out from the folds of the decaying flesh on his face, framed in the black cowl of his robe.

"You have the boy." It was not a question. The voice grated through the surround sound of the room, rasping, chuckling in heady delight.

Vader winced. Some small part of him recoiled. "Yes, my Master."

That throaty chuckle. "You have done well, Lord Vader. You should be commended for your swift, efficient action."

Vader shifted on the podium. Palpatine continued. "He is to be brought here to Imperial Center. Here, he can learn the true power of serving the dark side. And become one of us." Another cackle, as the cowled face tossed back in laughter.

"My Master."

The Emperor was very serious again. "What is it, Lord Vader."

"There have been some complications regarding Skywalker's capture."

"Such as?" the voice held warning, a sneer on the aged features. Vader lowered his head.

"The boy proved himself difficult to capture." Vader paused, loathe to admit this, that _he_ was partially to blame. "He is gravely injured."

The yellow eyes were boring into him now, even from the distance of thousands of lightyears, all air seemingly sucked out of the room.

"What has happened to my Jedi, Lord Vader?" Palpatine's voice was soft now, dangerous. He didn't wait for a reply, eyes narrowing, searing Vader with an expression of accusation.

"He is in the medical bay receiving the best possible treatment," Vader reported, uncomfortable in relaying the medics' information that he had been so unwilling to listen to a few short hours ago. "His recovery is expected to take some time. It is advised that he not be moved from the _Executor _until he is more stable."

There was silence. An airless, expectant pause, the heat of Palpatine's gaze burning into him.

Finally, the Emperor spoke. "Then you will transmit your coordinates to me and prepare a boarding party. I shall arrive on the _Executor_ to survey the damage myself."

A curious feeling of dread curdled in the dark lord's stomach, a sense of repulsion that he could not quite place as he pictured the Emperor standing in that glass-walled room, leering over the comatose young man on the medical bed.

"As you wish, my Master."

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The _Falcon _was the only place Solo felt completely safe.

"You know you can't bring your ship," Leia said gently. They were sitting in the hold, Solo sprawled on the curved bench, the Princess sitting with straight posture in the swivel chair, two data pads spread in front of her on the holochess table. "It's on every most-wanted docket, right next to your mugshot. We'd have no hope remaining anonymous."

He scowled at her, but didn't answer. How was it that he could, in a little over a year, go from wanting to shake the Alliance free, not caring, except for the money, if any of them lived or died….to this: Willing to consider leaving the _Falcon_ in a dockyard with a great big target on the top, team up with Her Royal Bossiness herself, and plan to infiltrate the Imperial Palace to bring back one measly Rebel soldier whose delusions of grandeur had gotten him to stay in the first place.

He must be out of his mind. "I know," he said out loud. "So you'd better find me a fast ship to replace it with."

She nodded, noting something on her datapad that he couldn't see. "I'm not sure I trust Vargas."

"Breen? Hobbie vouches for him."

"He's been part of Madine's special ops."

"So've half the Rogues," Han pointed out. "They're loyal to Luke."

She was frowning, her dark eyes haunted with...guilt? Did she take responsibility for what had happened on Third Moon? "How loyal? How do we know that's enough? How many other people has Madine gotten to?"

Han studied her for a moment, an argument flaring to the fore, which he swallowed back. "Should I take him off the list?"

Her gaze was fixed on the center of the table, clouded, uncertain. "Let me think about it. I need to meet with him, and then I'll decide if I trust him."

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The Emperor arrived twelve hours later, the shuttle coming to rest on the parade-polished floor of the _Executor's_ main hangar bay, two rows of red guard spewing out of the shuttle's maw before the bent, crooked form of Palpatine appeared at the ramp, heavy black robes pooling at the floor, his cane striking ominously against the deck in the hangar's deferential silence.

Members of the 501st, four rows deap, gleaming white helmets polished to a shine, stood in perfect parade order as Palpatine gestured to Vader to rise, smiling coldly at the kneeling dark lord.

"Take me to Skywalker."

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The medical bay was empty, every other patient and non-essential medical worker having been rerouted and moved to an alternate bay. The remaining existed solely to care for Skywalker.

Vader was grateful for the silence of the wide corridors, the absence of curious officers and medics, and the sudden dearth of droids.

Vader smiled in satisfaction as the young doctor he'd spoken to earlier, approached, finally looking appropriately terrified as he bowed and proceeded to answer the Emperor's questions. Then he led them past the posted guards, to the darkened room, curtained against the glaring lights through the glass, to where Luke lay.

"Leave us, medic," Palpatine rasped, without turning. His gaze was fixed on Skywalker, silent and still in the dim room lit garishly by the green and red flashing lights of the monitors, the steady beeping a soundtrack to the scene.

The old man approached the high bed, reached a cloaked arm out to the boy's chest, spindly, clawed fingers resting there for a moment. Skywalker was very still, the only movement from the mechanical ventilator as it steadily pushed air in and out of his lungs, his sense in the Force faint, almost disappearing completely.

Vader shifted, suddenly uncomfortable that his master was so close to his injured, vulnerable son.

Palpatine turned on him with surprising suddenness, his expression a curious mixture of rage and open mocking. He had surely sensed the dark lord's misgivings. "How very clumsy of you, Lord Vader, to leave him in such a state. I gave you a simple assignment: bring your son to me. Instead you manage to nearly kill him."

Vader didn't answer. He couldn't. A raw self-loathing had already taken up residence in the back of his mind. His master was absolutely right. He blamed himself entirely.

Palpatine chuckled, facing Skywalker once again, fickle amusement replacing his rage. "Ah, but what's done is done." He glanced sidelong again at Vader. "I will give you the opportunity to redeem yourself, my friend."

The dark lord shifted, suddenly cold, wary at the trap he knew was being set.

"Should the boy turn out to be permanently damaged, I certainly will have no more use for him." Palpatine cackled, a grating sound against Vader's mechanized hearing. "If that happens, then I shall gift _you_, my friend, the task of being his executioner."


	21. Chapter 21

Hello! My apologies for the delay in getting this chapter out. Some things seem to write themselves while others take a lot of wrestling and they're _still_ not exactly right. At any rate, enjoy, and feedback is always welcome. -T.

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"What are _you_ doing here?"

Vader had entered the small hospital room, pushing the privacy curtain aside angrily, glaring. The intruder was seated on the small sofa, dismantled holdout blaster set neatly in pieces on the tray table in front of her, calmly polishing the barrel with an oiled cloth.

She glared but remained seated, green eyes burning fire into his faceplate. "Palpatine ordered me here. Take it up with him."

The Emperor had taken his leave shortly after arriving, his threat to have Skywalker killed, should he not fully recover, explicit. Vader hadn't known, but should have expected, that Palpatine would install a trusted agent to be his eyes and ears in his absence.

It had been six standard days since the Emperor had stood in this room, his gnarled hand resting against the boy's chest, searching for a spark, some vestige of life within. That he'd left soon after had been some form of relief for Vader, an opportunity to stand in that room alone; to berate himself for his own part in injuring the boy.

To indulge in the what-ifs had this story developed differently: What if he hadn't been so careless with the lightsaber and avoided cutting off his son's hand? What if he had sensed the sniper earlier and killed him before he was able to fire? What if he'd had the presence of mind to halt the boy's fall, to keep him from injuring himself? What if he'd never lost the boy to begin with? What if Kenobi hadn't stolen him away and given him to strangers to raise? Would he have been able to bypass the animosity and hatred for Vader that his son had exhibited at Third Moon?

Now this woman had invaded this silent space between father and son.

"Get out," he hissed. "You are not to be here."

Mara Jade glared coldly. She wasn't afraid of Vader, much to the dark lord's irritation. "That," she said flatly, "you will have to take up with the Emperor."

"You can make your reports from the medic station," Vader gestured, ignoring her implied threat, knowing that this exchange would make it into her report to Palpatine. "There you can see everything that goes on, if that is what you want. But you will not sit here in this room with him and impede his recovery with your presence."

She glared. He glared. Neither moved.

The standoff was broken when the door opened and the young medic strode in. "Ah, excuse me," he stammered when he realized he'd stumbled in on a situation. "I can come back…."

"Medic," Vader rumbled, turning to face the retreating man. "Treat Skywalker. Jade was just leaving."

Another ice-cold glare in his direction and the woman crouched to reassemble the pieces of her blaster, and stormed past the two men.

From the corner of his vision, Vader could see her taking a seat at the medic station, still glaring.

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The room was hardly more than an oversized utility closet, windowless, low-ceilinged, smelling of dank tarpaulins and industrial fertilizer, dimly lit by three bare glow rods wired to the ceiling, casting everyone's faces in shadow.

The ten men and women, plus Han, Leia, and Chewie, stood close, some sitting on a dry spot on the ground, but most turned shoulder-to-shoulder, arms folded, grim faces turned toward Leia.

"I know most of you don't know what this assignment is about," she was saying, hands clasped behind her back, meeting each of their eyes in turn, "except that it has something to do with Luke."

Heads nodded. Word of Luke's capture had gotten around, of course, so everyone knew - hoped - this was about a rescue mission, but the details were secret from everyone except Han and Leia.

Each of the people present had been chosen based on their loyalty to Luke: friends, squadron-mates, aquaintances. The ones Han didn't know personally had come highly recommended by one of the others. To High Command's credit, whether it was prodded by Rieekan's guilty conscience, or Leia's dogmatic persistence, each of the soldiers had been released from their previously-assigned duties to serve on this special-ops team.

"This may or may not be common knowledge," Leia continued, "but nearly two weeks ago, Luke was injured and captured by Darth Vader." Command _had_ tried to keep it from being common knowledge. Still, there was a nervous rumble of conversation at her words.

"What may _not_ be common knowledge," Leia cut in over the talking, "is the reason Vader was after him in the first place."

"Because he was the one who fired the shot on the Death Star," piped Dack, the younger member of the team.

She shot him a look. "No. That's not the real reason."

The room quieted to a dead silence. They were listening now. "The thing I am about to tell you is listed as Top Secret to High Command." Leia looked them each in the eyes. "It does not leave this room. I am not actually permitted to divulge this information to you, but I will not allow you to endanger your life or the lives of the rest of us without knowing the complete truth." She took a deep breath.

"Darth Vader has a son."

No one stirred, eyes locked on the Princess. "That son did not know who his father was, and had been told he was long-dead. The son had never met his father. But once Vader realized his son was alive, he wanted him back." Her voice lowered. "He issued a price on his head, and tore up the galaxy to find him. What we witnessed on Third Moon was the result of Vader's relentless hunt for his son, in spite of our best efforts to keep the son safe."

Leia took another deep breath. Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Luke Skywalker... is Darth Vader's son."

The room was deathly still. Then, as if in slow motion, it erupted into chaos.

Han stood still and looked into the faces of each of the soldiers, at the expressions of shock on their faces, some outraged, most jaws agape in disbelief. He saw Wedge, standing near the door, mouth turned into a frown. Antilles nodded to him, and Han nodded back.

"There's more," the Princess announced over the noise, her voice cutting in. The room fell to silence once again. "Part of the issue with this as a special ops mission is that High Command is not in...agreement….over what to do with Luke. Some have voted to use any means necessary to keep him away from Vader." Her tone turned bitter. "No matter his demonstrated loyalty to the Alliance and," she gestured to all of them, "his friends, many would rather see him dead than in Vader's hands."

Another angry murmur, the soldiers' eyes dark in the shadows, boots shifting.

Leia spread her hands, keeping their attention. "So you see, why it is of utmost importance that you understand what you are getting yourself into. We are mounting an operation to rescue Luke from Vader and the Emperor. With this information, if you feel you absolutely cannot proceed with the full intention to do everything in your power to bring him back alive and unharmed, then," she gestured to the door, "there is the exit."

She waited. The silence stretched out for an uncomfortable span. No one moved.

Hobbie cleared his throat. "If I may say so, Princess," he began, glancing around at the others for their approval. "Hopefully I speak for everyone here when I say there is no other friend I'd rather risk my life for than Luke."

There were nods, murmurs of approval. Solo glanced around, feeling surprise, and a stirring of hope.

Leia's expression looked cautiously optimistic. "So you're all in, then?"

A resounding chorus of yesses filled the room.

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When it happened, Vader was on the bridge, hands clasped behind his back, only half-listening as Captain Piett detailed the repairs to the lower quadrant bay shields - a problem that he had been alerted to at 0730, which would be completed on schedule, at least, by 1600. Vader hadn't needed to discuss this in person, it was true, but he had needed to leave the med bay for a time; had walked, in fact, the entire distance to the Main Bridge when Piett had commed his aide.

"My Lord," Piett stood at attention. "Admiral Ozzel wishes to speak to you about the scheduled offensive on Terett in forty-eight hours. The _Executor _is still on the docket."

Vader shifted. Terett would have to be handled by the _Arturus. _He would not bring the _Executor _into battle, even if it was a staged one. "Captain Tukklor will oversee Terett."

Piett hadn't stayed alive this long in his position to question Vader's instructions, though his expression flickered before he nodded curtly.

"You think that unwise, Captain?" Vader baited, tetchy and he knew it.

"No sir," Piett answered quickly. "I will inform the Admiral."

Vader leveled a gloved finger at the captain. "Do so," he replied. "If Ozzell has - "

He broke off suddenly as a sudden sensation bloomed in his chest - light, supernova, almost painful in its intensity - scarcely aware he'd stopped speaking, and that Piett stood, awaiting orders, confusion forming on his brow.

Vader whirled, full-speed, from the bridge.

He stormed through the corridor, past Jade, eyeing him steadily from her self-assigned post. He could sense the medic and two others already in the room, as he barrelled through the door, his eye plates immediately adjusting to the low light.

The medical personnel glanced his way quickly, parting unconsciously for their superior, as Vader stepped to the foot of the bed, his gloved hand grasping for the boy's leg, set in the polymer cast, draped with the white coverlet. The steady pips of the life support equipment were the only sound in the room.

A glance to the head of the angled bed showed Luke, head still covered in a wide bandage, though the ventilator tube was gone, his forehead under the bandage creased to a frown.

His eyes were open, and he blinked slowly.

"He is awake," Vader rumbled, momentarily awed to see an expression, some sort of awareness, to feel the burning of the Force that was his son's presence after so much stillness.

The medic nodded curtly, at the head of the bed with a small scanner, turning back to the boy. "Luke?" he asked in a clear voice. "Luke, can you hear me?"

The boy didn't act as though he'd heard, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, his blinking becoming more rapid, face creasing as though he was in pain.

Vader stepped to his son's side, laid a hand on his injured arm. "Luke."

Suddenly Luke jerked as if struck, arching upward with a gasp, flailing away from Vader's touch. The medic sprang forward, seizing Luke's left arm just as the boy was pawing at the IV at his wrist, flinging the other man backwards with seeming inhuman strength that belied his frail appearance.

Vader seized Luke's left arm to keep him from injuring himself further, peripherally aware of the medic behind him, his sense shocked as he picked himself up from the floor. Brain-injured patients didn't normally emerge from a coma in this manner. The medic would need to adjust his expectations if he were to continue to care for Vader's son.

"Calm, Luke," Vader urged, placing a gloved hand against the boy's temple. "You are safe. Be still."

Luke jerked against the pressure of the black gauntlet, pushing outward with the Force, this time with an unintelligible cry, eyes still focused in the distance, his expression dissolving into pain, or rage, Vader couldn't tell; the white hot supernova that was his sense in the Force blinding the dark lord to the details.

"Luke?" It was the medic, on his feet again, his eyes on the figure on the bed, even as his assistant handed him a loaded hypo. "I need you to cooperate. Listen to me. Luke?"

The boy was still staring at the ceiling, the battle he was fighting in his own head.

"Luke?" The medic was snapping his fingers in front of the boy's face now, insistent. "I need you to look at me."

Slowly, his son dropped his pinched gaze, unseeing, just past the medic, hypo in hand; the assistants, jaws agape; and Vader, still leaning over him. The dark lord could feel under his hand, which was still resting firmly on Luke's right arm, the boy trembling with tension.

"Luke," the medic repeated, his tone deliberate, eyes flashing to one of the readouts as it sounded a low tone. "I need to know if you can hear me. Nod if you can understand what I'm saying."

The boy's eyes focused now on Vader's blank eye plates, suddenly cognizant. He seemed to not realize the medic was snapping his fingers impatiently in front of his face.

"Luke?"

"Calm," Vader whispered into the Force, toward that blinding, brilliant presence. He became aware that the men behind him were frozen still, waiting, expectant. The dark lord reached out to his son, projected as much serenity to the boy as he was capable, felt the walls and shields Luke had thrown up automatically, instinctively.

The boy's gaze, still fixed on Vader, lost some of its intensity, his breathing slowing.

"Luke?" the medic asked again, palming his hand-held scanner this time and aiming it at the patient.

Luke's eyes drifted closed, the trembling muscles of his arm going slack, the wash of brilliance dimming in Vader's mind, dispersing again out to the blackness of space.

The dark lord turned this time to the medic, carefully releasing his hold on the boy's arm. "This is a good sign, yes?" he asked.

The medic nodded, glancing up from the readout on the scanner, an expression that was not so much a smile as an expression of relief easing the lines on his youthful face. "Yes sir, I believe so."

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The call came two standard days later during the morning dispatches. Vader had already tired of the drone of Ozzel's voice, and had noted the disturbance in the Force, gaining his feet suddenly, to the puzzlement of the officers seated at the glossy black conference table.

"What is it?" he rumbled when the com in his suit pinged, stepping past the still-standing figure of the Admiral, past the single guard at the door.

The blast doors hissed shut behind him. The tense voice was that of the medic. "My lord, we have a situation."

It was the work of very few minutes to make it to the level of the Medbay and meet with a scene of barely-controlled chaos.

Jade was no longer at her post, though the two stormtroopers still stood guard at the door. The privacy drape was drawn over the plasteel walls, sharp voices snapping within.

Vader entered the room to see the bed empty, Jade standing battle-stance a few feet away, focused on the floor to the side of the bed, her small blaster in her palm; the medic to her right, empty hands tensed to his side. The medic's eyes flicked to the dark lord, relief flooding his expression.

"Lord Vader."

Luke was on the floor, half-sitting against the bed and the bulkhead, clad in a loosely fitted medical gown, his bandaged right arm clutched to his chest. He'd pulled the IV, yanked off the cardiac patches. A trickle of blood smeared down his wrist. He was gazing up at Mara's blaster, eyes focused, narrowed, face tight.

"It looks like your patient is already trying to go on the lam," Jade commented tightly, eyes steady on Skywalker as she readjusted her grip on the blaster.

Vader took a step forward, eyeing his son. Whatever it was that he'd attempted appeared to be all that he had strength to try. "What do you think you are doing?"

Luke jerked in surprised at the voice, as though he had not detected the dark lord's presence, his face suddenly incredibly guarded. The bacta wraps had healed the blaster burn on his shoulder, and the bone knitters had finished repairing his broken leg, the medic having removed the polymer cast the night before. The boy had not woken since that one incident two days before.

"Hopefully he hasn't rebroken the bone," the medic was muttering nervously now, standing right behind Vader, eyeing Luke's leg, fresh out of the polymer cast. "He really shouldn't move yet. The skull fracture…."

The dark lord stepped forward, waving back Jade and her blaster. "Allow me to help you, son." Luke may have been able to launch himself from the bed, but it didn't appear as though he was physically capable of much else.

Luke flinched away at Vader's touch. The dark lord could feel the push of the Force against him, _almost _forcing him into a backstep. The indulgence with which he was prepared to treat the boy turned into a flash of anger and, without thinking, he pushed back, knocking the boy weakly against the wall. Luke cried out, whether out of pain or frustration, he could not tell, crumpling down onto the floor to his right side, maimed arm still crushed against him.

"My lord," the medic's voice was alarmed as Luke fell. "He is still healing. Permanent brain damage will ensue if he is - "

Vader turned his back on the man as he scooped the now-unresisting Luke into his arms, laying him back on the bed. Luke's eyes were closed, his face still in a grimace, breathing harsh in Vader's ears. "He will learn his lessons one way or the other," he snapped.

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"So you're letting Vargas stay?" Han asked her, coming down the ramp of the small, nondescript transport shuttle. Its engine had been modified, and hidden nests of weaponry would not make it totally useless in a pitched battle, but still, Solo already felt like a sitting pittin and they hadn't even made it off the ground yet.

Leia was at the bottom of the ramp, speaking quickly to a fuel tech, her arms folded in a way Solo could tell was nervous.

She bit her lip and turned to him. She was wearing a white shipsuit and calf-high boots, her hair pulled into plaits that twisted around her head. There were dark circles under her eyes that spoke of little sleep and nights up worrying. "Yes," she sighed. "His skills in digital forgery are really unmatched. There is no one else who could replace him." She met his eyes. "Tell me it's the wrong choice."

Han shook his head. He had spent his own late nights, pulling together weaponry, supplies, mapping out the routes for once they were on-planet. They were already haggard and they hadn't even begun the mission. "I don't know, sweetheart. We'll keep an eye on him so any rate."

She nodded, turning away to see Artoo Detoo trundling across the hangar, followed closely by his counterpart.

Han sighed loudly. "You did not tell me Goldenrod was coming on this trip."

Leia plastered a fixed smile on her face for Threepio, who was waving wildly in her direction and hollering "woohoo, Princess Leia!" in a very odd fashion for a machine. "He's not," she muttered through clenched teeth. "Only he doesn't know it yet."

Artoo beeped amiably as he swiveled his dome to Han and the Princess, as if he were asking permission to board, then trundled up the ramp.

"I am so gratified to know that we are going to rescue Master Luke," the golden droid was rambling to the princess, taking a tottering step toward the ramp. "His welfare in the care of the Empire is most assuredly uncertain, considering - "

"Where do you think you're going," Han growled, stepping into the droid's path.

Threepio halted awkwardly, regarded the obstacle in front of him. "Excuse me, Captain Solo, but I need to get past."

"You're not coming, Threepio."

The droid expressed surprise as a whole-body motion, his arms coming up, bent at jointed elbows. "What do you mean?" His voice sounded scandalized. "Artoo and I work as a team or not at all. In all my years, I never - "

Solo turned his back on the protocol droid and let Leia deal him. "There simply isn't enough room," she explained diplomatically as Han went back up the ramp.

Chewie met him at the top. "Are we all set?" Han asked. An affirmative growl. "Everyone on board?" the Wookiee nodded.

Solo ambled into the cockpit, took his seat, stared blankly at the control panel for a few moments. Rescuing Luke was going to be a long shot, he knew that. But here he was, sticking his neck out for the kid, because...what else could he do? They at least had to try.

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Luke was sitting up in bed. _Progress, _Vader thought with satisfaction to himself, as he entered the room. The lights were dialed up slightly now - a warm brown that dispensed with much of the gloom. The boy was wearing a gray medical tunic, the light coverlet draped neatly over his lap. The surgery to repair his hand had been successful, and now the medical droid stationed at his side was attempting to place a utensil in the hand, instructing the boy how to grasp it with his fingers, directing it to an open container of pureed fruit mash on the nearby tray table.

Luke was intent on the utensil for a moment, eyes flicking up to regard Vader without recognition. His fingers grasped the item, but then inexplicably bent the metal before the Two-one Bee could pry the hand loose.

"Let's try that again, sir," the droid said patiently, handing the boy a new utensil. Luke studiously ignored the other occupant in the room, this time grasping the utensil with much less force. The droid guided the boy's hand to the bowl. Vader watched as he dipped the utensil, and brought it forward. Before the puree made it very far from the bowl, the utensil dropped from Luke's fingers, clattering against the table, splashing fruit mash everywhere.

A sigh of frustration from Luke, his eyes flickering to the spilled food. The droid spun his servos to snag a cloth with a fine-jointed appendage. "We will try again, sir," it intoned, wiping the puree from the table and the front of the boy's tunic.

"Allow me," Vader rumbled, stepping to the side of the bed. "I will help you, son."

Luke was forced to regard the dark lord now, Vader's dark bulk filling his vision, gloved hand retrieving the dropped utensil. The boy stared up at him, disbelieving, perhaps mistrustful, but certainly not intimidated.

"No," he whispered, his eyes darkening in anger. His voice was a rasp, leftover from the effects of being on the ventilator, a frown narrowed on his features. He pulled his right hand back under the blanket, turned his head away from his father, staring blankly at the sight the narrow viewport offered him, the empty blackness beyond. The boy's mental shields were firmly in place.

Vader fought to quell the anger rising in his gut. He'd told himself there would not be a repeat of the last time he'd lashed out. He had no wish to injure the boy further. If the young man could at least resist being so stubborn. "Luke," he rumbled, drawing on a well of patience he'd never tried to access before. "You must regain your strength."

Luke was silent for a moment, not moving.

"Sir, let's try this again," the droid repeated, lifting the container of puree as a way to pull the boy's attention back to the matter at hand. Luke ignored it, instead turning his head to lock eyes with Vader and lifting his right hand from underneath the coverlet.

"Do you think…after all this," his speech was slow, as if he was having trouble remembering how to form the words. Luke's eyes went to the artificial hand, the latest in state-of-the-art prosthetics. "...That I will simply...forgive you?"

Vader was silent. He hadn't thought about it in those terms. He told himself that the boy's feelings were not of particularly high importance to him. Luke was his son, and he was injured. Palpatine was impatiently waiting for the boy to be turned over to him...or for Vader to follow through with the young man's execution - which, of course, was unthinkable. Vader would do everything in his power to restore Luke's strength, to give him the highest probability of success against the aged Sith Lord... and the opportunity to join Vader on the Imperial throne.

Luke was still gazing at the artificial hand, flexing his fingers, eyeing it like an alien object. The boy must know that he would have not received as high a caliber replacement if he'd been with the Rebellion. "Is all this," he swallowed, bringing his eyes up to Vader's mask, "because you think...you can _buy _me?"

Vader's eyes narrowed darkly. "That is not my intention," he defended. "You are my son. I insist you have the very best medical care."

There was a long pause. The boy appeared to be tiring, processing the words at only half the speed, his gaze dropping to his lap, to the artificial hand, engineered to look exactly like the flesh and blood one. Finally he brought his eyes back up to meet Vader's, his expression challenging, bordering on hostile. "Why?"

The dark lord stepped forward, his back gauntlet curling into a fist. "I wish you to join the Empire, son," he declared, feeling passionately that the boy would want to link forces with him once he realized where true power lay. "You must be in top form when we arrive on Imperial Center to meet the Emperor."

The slight color drained from Luke's face. Perhaps he had not realized he was to have an imminent meeting with the Emperor of the galaxy. Vader ignored this and continued. "You will understand the true nature of the Force and the power of the dark side. But the Emperor is an exacting master. Much will be expected of you."

The boy sagged back against the pillows, his breathing becoming more labored, forlorn gaze trailing back to the viewport, his voice a faint whisper. "Why can't you just let me go?"


	22. Chapter 22

OK friends, another scene of less action, more angst, but, alas, it's plot development and there's a lot of L/V, so enjoy, and thank you for the feedback/favs and follows! It really does motivate me to update faster. :)

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There was still good in his father.

The thought came to Luke as he was standing, both hands locked on the handrails on either side of him, eyes intent on the floor, willing his leg to lift his foot and take a step. The two-one-bee droid stood to his left, slender appendage poised by his arm in case he fell.

Luke inwardly cursed his inability to shift his weight to the opposite foot, and thought distantly that there was still good in the man under all that black armor, the thought following right on the heels of wondering how he was going to make good on his plan to escape from the ship when he couldn't even walk.

"Now the left leg, sir," the droid repeated, endlessly patient, as only a programmed machine could be. Luke paused to remember which was his left leg, trying to ease his weight to the opposite side. "That's the way, sir," came the bland compliment when he managed to shuffle his foot forward.

His head ached. It was from the effects of the brain injury, he'd been told. The sutures from the surgery had only recently been removed, superficial pain remaining around the surgery line. The rest of his head felt as though it had been tightened into a vice, pounding for release against his temples.

He managed another shuffle forward. His arms, holding onto the bars, were trembling now from the exertion of this short exercise.

What it meant to him that there was still good in his father was still unclear. The anger, a tight knot in his gut that ratcheted tighter, depending on the dark lord's proximity, would not abate. Luke knew anger was of the dark side, _knew _he couldn't afford to feel this way without slipping over...and yet...he felt it, raw and uncontrolled.

A stray memory fired, patchy scenes from weeks ago, when he and Han had gone to rescue Leia. His memories were a jumble. Luke felt he could not distinguish between what had been reality and what had been a dream. His memory of those last hours was poor, with large sections missing. He remembered the lightsaber...and Vader cutting off his hand. He couldn't remember arriving, or the moment he met Vader, however. Much of the trip to Third Moon was a blank, but he remembered talking to Han.

The Corellian had accused him of using himself as bait against Vader, to draw him away from Leia. Luke had defended, saying he'd supposed he couldn't avoid him forever.

_Actually, I think avoiding him forever sounds like a pretty darn good plan_, Han had snapped. And then in a quieter voice, his hands gripping the speeder's controls as they careened though the canyon. _You're going to get yourself killed, kid._

Luke had allowed for the possibility, but he knew Vader wanted him alive. Many things were probably worse than simply being killed. Yoda had tacitly made it clear that being captured by the Emperor was probably one of them. Luke could imagine a few more as well. But he knew he'd never forgive himself if there was something he could have done to help Leia….and he didn't do it.

_I can't avoid him forever, but I will still try,_ Luke had offered, seeing the set in his friend's jaw - the moody scowl that was a mask for the worry.

_Can you really resist the pull of meeting the man who's supposedly your father?_ Solo had been skeptical. _The man who's also the enemy your Jedi teacher wants you to hurry up and kill?_

Luke had started to object, but silenced when Han gave him a knowing look. _I don't need to satisfy a personal vendetta, if that's what you're thinking._

_You're angry - even I can see that,_ Solo had shrugged, facing forward again, holding up a hand without turning when Luke opened his mouth to deny the accusation. _Don't bother lying to me about it. I can tell you are, and I can also tell you I think it's affecting your judgement._

Anger. The emotions rolling off Luke had been so apparent, even Han had picked up on them. Luke felt like an insect under a microscope.

_I think acknowledging it first-off would be a good start, _Han had told him, slipping into lecture mode. _You know, 'hey, I'm angry, I need to punch something and I'll feel better'. It does wonders._

Luke had reminded him that Yoda had told him emotion was a dangerous emotion for a Jedi to have.

_See, kid, that's the thing. _ Han had looked nervous to have this conversation, as if he'd not known how Luke would react.

As if he were afraid of him.

_You _have _the emotions. What do you do with them? Just bottle them up inside and wait for them to explode everywhere?_

Luke had felt offended that Han seemed to think he couldn't keep in control. He could manage it, dispel it. Through meditation...

_Don't kid yourself, Luke. You are pushing the feelings down and ignoring them. Trust me - it's not healthy._

After a long silence, in which Luke had not known how to answer or what to say, Han had cleared his throat again. _Look, kid, I know finding out Darth Vader is your father is not exactly a trip to the Coruscant Carnival, but you can't ignore that it is a thing _\- he _is a thing that you have to acknowledge._

Luke remembered shaking his head, confusion undermining his resolve to do what he needed to do. _I don't want to face him. If I do, I'm afraid I'll have to kill him. And -_ he had broken off, clamping down on his lower lip. _I don't know if I can do that. Not to my own father, no matter what terrible things he's done._

_Even to Leia? Or you?_

Luke had paled at that. _Please don't ask me that, Han._

"Sir, now the right foot."

The voice of the medical droid brought Luke back to the present. He realized he'd been leaning heavily against the hand rail, gaze and mind distant. The droid must have repeated his instructions several times for them to register.

"Sir?"

Luke swallowed, looking down at the floor. "I'm…" he coughed. "I'm here."

"Let's get to the end of the carpet and we can be done for the day," the droid offered.

Luke eyed the gray rug, merely five feet distant. He could do this. He _would _do this, because every small gain in physical rehabilitation meant freedom was closer to his grasp.

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The hangar at the Manarai shipping facility was a hive of chaos and activity, at its peak travel time, mid-Coruscant day. To arrive at this time of day had been part of the plan.

The shuttle had made it through planetary security without mishap, past the scanner ships hovering like gate-keepers in the troposphere. Vargas' fake ID codes for the ship had passed muster: Their collection of Rebel soldiers was nothing more than a mostly-human crew assigned to Receiving in one of the many fruit-packing facilities-a job typically done by droids, but filled by sentients when the smaller facilities couldn't afford an initial massive investment in technology.

The ramp lowered and Han walked down, holster empty, looking casual.

"Captain Tuul?" A bored officer in olive Imperial uniform and rank bars that indicated he was a sergeant, stepped forward. He was flanked by two equally bored-looking stormtroopers, weapons casually resting in the crooks of their elbows. Han supposed the shipping facility's closer proximity to the massive Imperial Palace had something to do with the extra military security.

"That's right." He kept his voice casual as he stepped forward to the retinal scanner. The forged contact lenses-that was where Vargas's real skill came in-were so thin, one could not see the line with a naked eye. They had turned Solo's eyes green. The eye color, along with his hair dyed nearly black, slicked down and held in place with pomade, did wonders to change his appearance. Still, he turned quickly, to avoid giving the officer a clear view of his face.

The scanner pipped quietly. Solo held his breath. If this didn't work….

The light flashed green.

The officer waved him off, already half-turning. "Complete your crew's entry scan," he told Han. "Public transports bound for Gaftelen leave every forty minutes. The droid will need a restraining bolt on-planet."

The officer walked off, leaving the two stormtroopers still standing guard. Han nodded at them both, remembering the Death Star, when he and Luke had burst into the detention center…..

He shook off the thought, went back up the ramp again, unhurried. The "crew" were standing at the corridor, silent, waiting. Their attire was non-military, vaguely shabby; they carried no weapons, since they would be confiscated at the Customs checkpoint anyway. "Ready?" he asked, a half-sardonic smile lighting his features.

One by one the ten shuffled out to the scanner station, followed by Leia, her hair covered in a tight shawl, light gray and unmemorable. Chewie brought up the rear, Artoo rolling along behind.

By the time the scanner had pipped green on the Wookiee, and spewed out the appropriate ID chips for all of them, the two troopers did not linger.

Once they had gone, Solo shot a quick glance to the nearest visible security camera, turned to Antilles and gave a short nod.

Wordlessly, the crew gathered their gear, headed to the exit, with the steady tide of human and alien arrivals in a long queue, while Solo battened the ship.

He caught up to Leia, shouldering his pack as he did so. The Coruscant afternoon was hot, and the facility was stuffy with the sweat of hundreds of human and alien bodies. "See where these transports are?" he asked over the din of the crowd.

Her eyes scanned briefly, without turning. "The exit's up ahead." They dumped their packs on the rolling conveyor belt, stepped through the scanners. Artoo trundled forward, beeping indignantly, through the droid scanner, stilling momentarily as the restraining bolt was installed on his silvery dome.

_Simple, _Han thought, eyeing the crew up ahead, nodding to the beefy G-47 droid as it placed the restraining bolt's owner in his hand.

"Remember," it intoned, though Solo was already walking away. "Removal of a droid's restraining bolt is in violation of Code 377-4B and is punishable by…." He didn't hear the rest. The troopers standing like statues at the scanning machines barely even glanced at Chewie, much less the rest of his crew.

"Next transport to…" an even female voice announced over the PA system, "Gaftelen in five minutes. Next transport…."

Solo watched Leia's gray-scarfed head bob ahead in the crowd, next to Klivian, the flood of beings sweeping out to Landing Platform 42.

The platform was only slightly less crowded. There was open air there, though, and Solo gratefully caught the slight stir of breeze that attempted to lift his pomade-slicked hair. The landing pad was roughly thirty meters wide, jutting out of the shipping building ten stories above the surface. Curious, Solo craned his neck. Above him, exact copies of the platform extended another twenty stories, as well as to the left and right of them, each pulsing with crowds of humans, droids, and aliens.

He was standing in the crowd, keeping an eye out for their transport within the shipping lanes. The lanes were multiple layers deep, criss-crossing in a blur of vehicles, speeders and large transports.

"Good timing, Boss." It was Wedge's voice beside him. The X-wing pilot's black hair fell over his forehead, and he shook it free.

Solo half-smiled. The gray boxy transport had exited a traffic lane and was approaching their landing pad. "Couldn'a timed it better if I tried."

"This transport to Gaftelan," the female voice announced as the riders rushed the open doors.

Solo dropped himself into the seat next to Leia on the lower level, Artoo wedging himself into the narrow space between seats across the aisle. "You ever visit here?" he asked in a low voice, eyes scanning the teeming city as the lumbering transport lifted off.

She permitted herself a small smile, her gaze following his. "Of course. Many times. Just not - " she broke off, glancing back at him, probably conscious of sounding like a snob. "Just not from the vantage point of public transportation."

Solo smirked. "Right," he amended. "I forgot who I was speaking to."

She looked away, unriled at his sarcasm, her gaze trailing across the view of the massive skyscrapers, the monolithic structure of the Imperial palace dominating the landscape in the distance. Even if one had visited the city planet dozens of times, the sight was still awe-inspiring.

"What about you?" Her voice was so quiet, he almost hadn't heard her. She was looking at him again, studying the strange color of his eyes.

"Me?" Solo shrugged, dismissive. "A handful of times. Through less than legal channels usually." he glanced through the viewport again, not bothering to add that he'd usually spent what time was here in the shadier sections of the underworld, daylight and open air usually a thing a smuggler hadn't been privy to.

Now, if they were - he shouldn't say _lucky_ exactly - he would get to see inside the palace itself, so long as things went according to plan.

Han swallowed, sobering at the thought, thinking about Luke again. There'd been no sighting of the _Executor_ thus far, on Coruscant or anywhere else. It was possible Vader had chosen to transport Luke to Imperial Center through means other than his personal Super Star Destroyer, which meant it was _possible_ that the kid was already on Coruscant, in the Emperor's grasp. Solo cringed at that.

He remembered his last conversation with Luke, where he'd not-so-subtly pointed out the kid's angry, self-destructive streak. The gundark in the room was that Luke felt some sort of attachment to Vader for being his father_. _Solo had asked him if he thought Vader held him in the same regard.

Luke had hesitated. _I don't know _why _he wants me alive. I -_ he'd broken off, his eyes flashing. _I had hoped…_wished _it was because he wanted to know me as his son. _ His eyes had flickered to Han. _That's childish and naive._

Han hadn't answered. He could see the pain in Luke's eyes. Childish or not, the hurt was real.

"This is our stop," Leia nudged him. Han jolted, realizing the transport was slowing in its descent to the ground level of the city. Canyon-like walls of the buildings extended so far up toward the sky, buildings crammed impossibly close together, that the warm afternoon sun had disappeared, and the landing platform stood in shadow, lit by yellow glow-lamps, as if night had already fallen.

"Gaftelan," the computer voice announced their stop. Solo turned slightly and caught Chewie's eye, standing to exit.

Telfor Fruit Packing Company was in the middle of the next city block. Its faded sign, unlit, hung over the main factory doors, a large bay housing, at the moment, only one goods transport vehicle. This particular branch of the business dealt in domestic distribution. The interplanetary commerce arm was located closer to the shipping facility they'd just left.

There was a reason Han and his crew had come _here, _and it was not just because the small warehouse was located within a five kilometer radius of the Imperial Palace.

"Captain Tuul?" A short man with dark skin and a neatly-trimmed white beard stepped down from the entrance of the office area. He was dressed in a high-collared shirt of dark gray, and dark slacks, shoes polished to a shine. He reached Solo in four quick strides, hand extended. "I'm Barton Meade."

Solo shook the man's hand, gesturing quickly to the twelve people and one droid following behind him. "The crew you requested, Mr. Meade."

"Ah, yes," the man ushered them in quickly. "Please come in."

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Telfor Fruit Packing Company was a front for an Alliance safehouse, and Meade himself, though his family had been for thirteen generations packing the rare Bacca fruit from the only place in the galaxy it flourished - orchards near the Manarai mountains - and had profited handsomely from it, was himself a front man for Alliance activities that occurred near the palace. Which was really, a very dangerous place to be.

Meade led the crew into the factory's living quarters, through a narrow corridor - every inch of real estate at a premium this close to Imperial Headquarters. "I apologize for the lack of windows on this wing," he announced regretfully. "But, on the brighter side, you can all take comfort that this level is above ground."

Leia had smoothly taken charge, diplomatic chit-chat really being her thing and all, and she was walking closely behind Meade, even as she shed her gray scarf and draped it around her shoulders. "No need to apologize," she murmured. "We're grateful for your help."

Barton Meade keyed open the next dormitory door, and ushered Vlav and Klivian inside, stepped forward and keyed the next door, nodding to Vargas and Moechen.

When he came to the next door, and ushered the Princess inside, closely followed by Artoo, Meade lowered his voice. "I have made inquiries with my close friend, senator Foss. He serves on two committees with Lord Vader and will know when Vader returns to Coruscant."

"This has to be subtle," Leia warned. "Not like you're digging for information."

Meade drew back. "My dear," he tsked. "I may not be a planetary politician, but I am hardly an arriviste. It will not seem out of place, these conversations."

Leia nodded quickly. "One of our team will join the palace delivery crew, yes?" she asked. The plan would be for the Alliance crew to eventually infiltrate palace staff with Vargas's codes and forged lenses that could fool the retina scanners.

Meade waved his hand dismissively. "Yes, of course. It will all be set up soon."

"Another thing," Han caught his sleeve now. "We'll need weapons for the crew."

"Already being done," Meade reassured. "I will have them in a few hours. In the meantime," he lifted his eyebrows at Solo. "We must keep up appearances. The packing shift begins in an hour."

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"Do you have nothing better to do...than stand there and stare at me?" Luke's tone was hostile, his breathing labored, sweat rolling down his temples as he lifted his leaden left foot to the next stair. This particular torture device was a set of five steps Luke was supposed to climb, which, once he reached the top, lowered escalator-fashion to become the lowest step again. The concentration and the physical effort required to navigate those five steps was demoralizing even without Vader's gaze boring a hole into the back of his head.

"If you're asking me if I prioritize nothing over ensuring the continued health of key players in the Empire's future, then you are correct," Vader rumbled calmly. "This takes precedence."

Luke felt the blood drain from his face. Vader seemed to believe Luke's commitment to him and the Empire was settled, a mere consequence of being _here, _in this place. He took another laborious step. "Your concern for my health is - " another step - "_touching_, but misplaced."

The dark lord walked around into Luke's line of sight, crowding out the hovering medical droid, arms crossed. "How so?"

Luke stopped to catch his breath. He leaned his weight on the handrail. "I've never said I would join you."

Vader cocked his head to the side, appearing to be amused at Luke's obstinance. The Too-onebee moved away, its attention on the readouts on the computer screen. The humans' argument was outside the protocol of its programming. "I don't recall giving you the choice." He paused, for effect, probably. "Son."

Luke glared, hot anger flooding him. He turned to face the stairs again, pointedly shutting out the dark lord. "I don't recall asking for your permission!" he shot back.

He stumbled, crashing his shin against the stair. An iron hand was suddenly clamped around his upper arm, lifting him to his feet. It felt less like concern for Luke and more like protection of Vader's investment.

Luke shook off Vader's gloved hand, ignoring him, taking another step and another - pushing himself, because gaining back his physical health was his path toward freedom.

"Luke," Vader's leather gauntlet came down heavily on Luke's shoulder, not in a fatherly way, but possessively, the fingers tightening. "You are my son."

Luke stopped, eyes narrowing as he turned to regard the dark lord. "I won't claim you as my father." He hoped his words cut deep, shook Vader to the core. "A father wouldn't do this to his son."

Their gazes locked for one long, silent moment, more bitter rebukes forming on Luke's tongue, the anger flooding his limbs, making him shake all over.

"Do what, Luke?" Vader's voice sounded unperturbed and even as ever.

Luke ground his teeth, freshly angry that he had to spell it out for him. "This - force someone against their will. Drag me to the Emperor…." he trailed off, words failing him for a moment. He remembered, the thought that had come to him earlier, that there was still good somehow in his father.

"Come with _me," _he said instead. "Away from the Emperor. Back to the good side."

Vader did not move. Luke did not move. A bead of sweat rolled down his back, his heart pounding in his throat, eyes locked onto those red-tinted goggles, trying to see past the mask to the man beneath.

"You don't seem to understand the power of the dark side."

The spell was broken. "Which is of course the first lesson you will teach me," Luke nodded wearily, bitter sarcasm coloring his tone.

"In due time."

"It won't work."

"Keep your naivete as long as possible if it helps you sleep at night."

"What helps _you_ sleep at night?" Luke shot back, aware that he was unraveling, his emotional reserves spent. He lifted a shaking hand to readjust on the railing. "How can you justify using your flesh and blood as a…" he shook his aching head, searching for the words, "...a _pawn_ in your game? Is that all I am to you?"

He was met with a wall of silence, a glare from that Death's head mask.

"I think," Vader said quietly, turning away from Luke now, toward the door. "That you are ready now to travel to Coruscant. To meet the Emperor and continue with your training."

He stormed out of the room, leaving a shaking Luke staring after him.

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	23. Chapter 23

Hi everyone! A little action, up ahead. Thank you again for your follows and reviews!

-T.

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"Sir, something for the pain?" The voice reverberated in his skull. The Too-Onebee droid seemed like his most constant companion these days, hovering, prodding, and constantly nagging in that bland, mechanical voice.

Luke shifted on the repulsor bed, shutting his eyes against the brightness of the blue-tinged artificial lighting of the room, spearing hot pokers into his skull.

He was in new quarters. A small squad of stormtroopers had marched him here a few hours ago, out of the medbay and through the pewter-gray corridors, without explanation or accommodation. Luke had struggled to keep the pace, particularly after the walk stretched on for ten minutes, nearly stumbling several times to the prodding of blaster carbines and barked orders to move quicker.

Luke wondered if Vader had authorized the move, wondered if it was in retaliation for Luke's earlier argumentativeness. He also wondered at the dark lord's absence: it had been several days since Luke had seen him. Not that he was complaining. The farther Vader stayed away from him, the better.

He couldn't really complain about the new living situation either. He was not in a detention center. The new quarters bordered on luxurious: some sort of ranking-officer's cabin. There was a comfortable bed, a small kitchenette - which Luke assumed was stocked, though he hadn't had a chance to take inventory - a private fresher, and a lounge chair near the viewport. The viewport allowed Luke to approximate his location. Near as he could tell, he was roughly near the bow, portside of what was truly a massive Star Destroyer. Racking his addled brain, he tried to recall the schematic of a regular Star Destroyer and the location of the hangar bays. His head hurt too much to calculate the distance or the time it might take him to walk that far.

The officer's cabin had some sort of closed anteroom Luke had seen when he'd been brought here. The small room had a sealed door and held several stormtroopers. If he were to make good on his plan to escape, he would need to take his guards into account.

But for now, he lay curled into the "give" of the repulsor bed, still dressed in the loose gray hospital tunic from the medbay, his head feeling like it might split into two, trying to remember the techniques Yoda had taught him for managing pain.

"Sir?" The droid repeated. Whatever had prompted Vader's decision to have him moved out of the medbay, the medical droid was apparently still part of the scene. It seemed bent on referring to him as 'sir' in spite of Luke's ambiguous status as a prisoner/forced guest aboard the ship.

"The lights," Luke mumbled, cracking his eyes slightly. "Turn them off."

There was a few seconds' delay, and then the room beyond his eyelids went completely dark. Luke breathed a cautious sigh of relief, dared to open his eyes again. The room, now bathed in chalky starlight, performed a slow, nauseating loop around him.

The Too-onebee droid was at his bedside again. Luke blinked at the glint of a hypodermic in the dim light. He drew back. "No."

"Sir, it will help with the pain."

It would also render him woozy and send him into a drugged sleep for the next twelve hours - a consequence Luke could not afford right now, not while he was trying to mentally guard against Vader, and think up his escape plan. He pushed to a sitting position, invisible hammers bashing both sides of his skull. "No," he ground out again. "The pain isn't so bad...as long as the lights are off."

The droid hesitated. Luke held his breath. Perhaps the droid was simply following orders to keep him drugged, and therefore compliant, in which case there wasn't much he could do if he didn't want to draw a larger security detail into the cabin's anteroom by giving them resistance. A small handful of stormtroopers were pretty good odds for his escape - odds he'd like to keep.

After a lengthy pause, the machine drew back. "Very well, sir. I will leave you to rest."

Luke curled back into a ball, noting peripherally that the droid moved back to the door. He reached cautiously out to the Force to bring it to bear against the stabbing pain in his temples. Past all his shields he had locked in place, he could vaguely sense Vader, at some unknown part of the ship. He shied away from the mental contact, his mind veering back to his small quarters - and then he jolted in surprise.

The woman with the red hair, striking in the severe expression on her porcelain features, and her lithe movements: she was in the anteroom outside of his cabin, with four other troopers. And she was Force-sensitive.

As he retreated to the silence of a healing trance, he wondered how he had not noticed it before…

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By the third day left alone in his glorified prison cell, Luke had formulated a plan.

He was walking steadily on the treadmill. The machine had been brought into the cabin to replace the lounge chair, the message from the absent Vader clear: regain his strength.

Luke did not need reminding. He walked. He increased the incline, the speed, and the amount of time, until cold sweat stood out on his forehead and his ears buzzed with light-headedness. _Freedom, just ahead._ He pushed on.

A stormtrooper wordlessly entered the cabin and set a tray of congealed food on the small table - the first of three meals served him every day, the timing like clockwork. As Luke shut down the treadmill and turned to regard his jailor, his chest heaving with the exertion of the brisk walk/half run he'd managed for the last five minutes, the idea came to him. A plan for his escape.

He sank down at the table, and inspected the contents of the tray. The food was nutritionally balanced, but lacked aesthetic appeal. He slowly ate it anyway, his mind churning. He could grasp the utensil easily with his right hand now, having grown more accustomed to controlling the artificial hand. But he found himself using his left hand more and more often, simply because the recurring memory of Vader's crimson saber slicing through his wrist sent a phantom surge of pain through his whole arm. It was the realization, every time he used the artificial limb, that he was no longer whole - and hadn't been, for a long time, even before he lost his hand - and that the person responsible was the one person in the galaxy who should have taken the most care to ensure his well-being: his father.

That pain hurt worse than the loss of his hand; a deep, gnawing emptiness that opened wide beneath his feet, threatening to swallow him in complete darkness. A father who was supposed to love him, but didn't.

With some effort he forced his mind back to the topic of his escape. He would have to time everything precisely, and do so without raising alarms, or Vader would be breathing down his neck in under ten minutes. Then he probably would get thrown in an actual detention center, with much more stringent security that would make a second escape attempt unlikely to succeed. He would have only one shot at this, and he would have to make it count.

A sudden pull of gravity and weak flash of light nearly jolted him from his chair. Luke glanced quickly to the viewport, his eyes confirming what he instinctively already knew: the ship had just launched into hyperspace.

Tiime was running short.

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The fruit-packing plant connected to Coruscant's underworld through a narrow duracrete stair, descending five levels. Han normally did not consider himself claustrophobic until navigating that close stairwell, Chewie and Daz Moechen on his heels. He almost felt relief when they came to the door at sublevel five, keyed the code, and practically spilled out to the dank underground street.

Coruscant's underground had a certain type of smell. Han would never forget it. It brought him immediately back to the first time he ran a job for Masz Potol on the dank levels of the underworld, jittery on adrenaline and fear. He knew from that first experience on Coruscant, that the smell - a combination of garbage, dirt, industrial waste, and mildew - became stronger the farther down one descended into the sub-levels. This particular level was laser-lit with signs for cantinas and a few barricaded shops. Pedestrians loped in the shadows to the side of the street, knowing better to stray in the path of an oncoming speeder or to call attention to themselves.

The Empire's presence was virtually non-existent after the second sub-level. Each level of the city descended further into decay; crumbling structures hundreds of years old, without power or basic facilities. The inhabitants of each successive level morphed into creatures - some sentient, some not - who had never seen the light of day. Lawlessness and crime ruled on some levels, while the lowest was rumored to contain only blind slug-like creatures that prowled the darkness.

His eyes were adjusting to the lack of light, but Chewie was already moving, Daz right behind. If the other man was bothered by the appearance of the underground city, he didn't show it. Barton Meade's speeder was in the bunker near the door. Quickly, solo swiped the key fob across the scanner, and the bunker's bay door clattered open.

"Got everything you need?" Han muttered to Daz, a soldier in his late twenties, a recruit from the core worlds - private schools, the Imperial academy - a guy Solo would tend to hate on a good day. But today he needed his skills, and the upper-bred accent that would help him blend in.

The other man nodded as the speeder-top closed down over them. He was holding a package under his arm. Solo knew inside contained the uniform of a low-level ISB agent. "Got it."

Chewie was piloting, easing slowly out into the dimly-lit alleyways. "Comlink set to four-two-seven?" he asked.

Daz grunted an affirmative. They were picking up speed now, the speeder's runner lights tracking ahead, over pipes and conduits, the occasional other speeder and a few garishly-lit signs.

"We'll be back at the rendezvous point at exactly nineteen-hundred," Han told him in a low voice. Any later than that and you'll have to call for pickup. No waiting around."

"Understood," Daz answered. His eyes were searching the street up ahead, scanning for _The Beleaguered Bantha._ There was a little-used stairwell in the alley behind the boarded-up cantina.

"Here it is," Solo muttered, his eyes straining in the dark for passersby. Chewie slowed, Daz ducked out before the speeder actually came to a stop, and the Wookiee continued on as though nothing had happened.

Daz disappeared into the shadows immediately. Han knew that the stolen uniform under his arm was a liability this far down in the underworld. He would don it somewhere closer to the surface level, before his approach to the heavily fortified public entrance to the palace.

His was a test run. To make sure everything went according to plan.

In preparation for the actual event of busting Luke out of there.

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Leia's attention was fixed on her data pad as she keyed in codes, frowned, keyed them again. Han managed to sneak up on her, making her jump as he spoke.

"Well, did Vargas deliver?"

She frowned at him, but it was a scowl out of habit, her fingers, stained purple from the fruit she'd packed last shift, tapping out another code. "I wish you'd stop doing that."

She was sitting on the narrow cot near the wall, the light in the small room dim. Han took the liberty of sitting down next to her. "Do what?"

She sighed, stared hard at the datapad. "Sneaking up on me like that."

Solo shrugged. He eyed her hands. They were shaking. "Sorry."

She forced out a loud sigh, and slammed the datapad down on the bed, meeting his eyes again, expression neutral. "Daz is in. It worked."

Solo grinned. "That's my boy. What's the next move?"

"Now we track him, monitor his movements through the palace. We can collect data on the operational security measures….and just…." she shrugged, "wait."

Han pursed his lips. "Till whenever Lord Buckethead decides to show up."

She quirked a smile, in spite of herself. "Basically."

Han turned serious, as always, remembering _why_ they were here. Worry over Luke twisted his stomach into a tight knot. "I hope the kid's okay."

Leia's gaze dropped to the datapad again, distant. Han recognized the guilt in her eyes. "Me too," she whispered.

"Hey," Solo hesitantly rested his hand over hers, to pull her gaze away from that lost-in-space look. It worked. She stared at his hand, but didn't move it away. "You have to stop beating yourself up over this."

Her expression crumbled, but still she didn't move. "It's my fault he's in this predicament."

Han shook his head, remembering his arguments with Luke before they traveled to Third Moon. Luke's words, _I would never forgive myself if something happened to her and I did nothing. _He wondered if these two realized how alike they were.

"It's not your fault," he insisted. "The kid knew somehow that you were in danger, and that's why he came. He knew Vader was there, long before we got to you. He chose to go anyway."

She withdrew her hand, folded her arms in a defensive posture, her frown deepening. Perhaps Han shouldn't tell her all this - it didn't seem to be helping. "Why would he be so stupid?"

Solo spread his hands, hesitantly, fumbling for words. _A good Jedi wouldn't have these conflicting emotions, _Luke had once recited dutifully. _A good Jedi would put the good of the many before the one, not let personal issues get in the way. _Personal issues such as leaving his training to rescue a friend. His voice and expression had seemed haunted when he'd admitted this to Han: his perceived failure at achieving the emotional detachment required of him. _Perhaps I'm not destined to become a 'good Jedi'._

Han cleared his throat, aware that the silence had stretched longer than was comfortable, and the Princess had not spoken. "I think," he began, seeing Luke's troubled expression again in his mind's eye. "It's because he cares too much."

Was there such a thing as too much? Back on Dagobah, one of the rare times Luke had eaten a meal on the _Falcon _with him and Chewie, probably because the Jedi doctrine was eating him up inside and he needed to get those words out to someone who was not the aged, impassive Jedi Master, the kid had said the same words: he cared too much.

_Luke, you're __**human**__,_ Solo had murmured to the troubled expression on the young man's face, feeling troubled himself that the Jedi would turn this good-hearted…._kid_...into one of their killing machines. _Is a Jedi not even allowed to be that? Not to process grief, not have relationships that might get in the way of your duty?_

Luke had smiled sadly. _I think my destiny was written for me before I was born._

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Luke jolted out a dreamless sleep, unrested, wondering for a moment what had awakened him.

The cabin around him was dark, silent. He rose to a half-sitting position, running his hand through his hair, stretching out cautiously with the Force. Then it hit him: hyperspace. The ship no longer had that characteristic thrum of being at lightspeed. Which meant…

He rolled to his feet, and stumbled to the viewport.

The ship hung in realspace, countless smaller ships swarming around it. In the distance, at the edge of the viewport, he could just make out the edge of the planet, its characteristic grid pattern of city lights that could be seen from outer space confirming it could only be one place: Coruscant.

Luke glanced around him, his heart suddenly hammering in his throat.

It was time.

Quickly, he snagged the one change of clothes he'd been provided - a non-descript black tunic with an open, flat collar, and black cargo pants with pockets - and changed, his hands shaking. The outfit was non-military, but at least would help him blend in better than the med-center tunic. Donning the boots, he stepped into the kitchenette. It turned out there were a few non-perishable food items in its stores. He put a handful of ration bars in the pockets, slapped the call button for the Two-Onebee, and sank down on the bed to wait.

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Daz's comlink seemed out. The tracking device that followed his location through the palace had blipped out and disappeared from the screen.

Since this had happened a handful of times before - albeit for shorter periods of time - in the preceding three days, Leia told herself not to panic. But after an hour trying to get him back online, she was searching for Breen Vargas in person, to see if he could get it working again.

"Something wrong?" Han asked too casually as she rounded the corner and nearly slammed into him.

Leia shook her head quickly. "I'm sure it's nothing, but I need Breen."

Solo hooked his thumb back the direction of the bays. "He's gone with the shipping crew on their first run."

Right, she'd almost forgotten. A crew of three men had joined the delivery transport scheduled to make a drop of Bacca fruit to the palace, which would get them as far as the palace Receiving bays, where they would then infiltrate the main palace in the guise as stormtroopers. She pursed her lips. "I can't raise Daz."

Solo frowned. "At all?"

She nodded. "He's been completely off the grid for nearly an hour now."

Han blew out a breath, all the possibilities of what could go wrong flashing in quick succession across his face. "Okay, well, there's nothing we can do about it but keep our fingers crossed. And keep trying."

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"You called, sir?" The droid tottered through as the door hissed shut behind him, its slender-jointed body swivelling to face Luke, still sitting on the bed.

"Yes," Luke rose to his feet, feigning a look of pain. "I'm not sure what is wrong…" He remained slightly hunched over until the droid was within arm's reach. Then, faster than the eye could follow, snatched his hand out, yanking the handful of cables connecting the droid's cerebrum to the rest of its body. There was a flash of sparks and the droid froze mid-motion, dead.

Luke figured he had thirty seconds at most before whatever alarm systems alerted his guard's to the droid's change in status. He reached behind the machine, pulled two more power couplings. Han had spent a day once teaching him how to hotwire locks. Here was hoping the lesson stuck.

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Darth Vader was in his meditation chamber, sitting quite still. The _Executor _had reverted to realspace, which meant they were in the Coruscant system. He had turned off the comm - not wishing to be disturbed - but he could hear it in the familiar thrum of the ship's massive drive. They had arrived.

This hyperbaric oxygen chamber was the one place Vader did not need his suit or his helmet, free of the constraints of the equipment that was needed to keep him alive. He sat in privacy, feeling the relief of the air moving across his face, seeing the colorless chamber around him with his own eyes, instead of through the red-tinted eye pieces of his helmet. Daily time spent here meditating was essential.

He smiled to himself. He would bring his son to the Emperor today. Of that, he was decided.

Vader ignored the niggling feeling of dread that came from somewhere - not him, surely; maybe Luke? - about bringing his own son before Palpatine. The boy was stronger now, nearly back to full physical health. It was necessary for him to learn the ways of the dark side of the Force. Palpatine would bring the boy in line, show him the true nature of the power he held. Certainly, the experience would not be pleasant for the boy, but he would survive. And when he did, Vader would recruit him to rise up against the Emperor and rule the galaxy side-by-side with him. Father and son.

Vader smiled again, the motion pulling at the scars on his face. The thought of this glorious day, when he and his son could rule the galaxy, kept him going in spite of the small, peculiar difficulties along the way.

Difficulties such as Luke himself. The boy seemed unfazed by the prospect of power. Indeed, he seemed afraid. Afraid of the power within himself, afraid to lord over others with it.

The very first weakness Palpatine would outlaw would be that fear, Vader was sure of it. Shying away from one's potential held absolutely no use in Imperial leadership.

Vader admitted to himself that he'd stayed away from the boy lately because of his increasing frustration. Their conversations chased each other in circles: Luke's open hostility, Vader's volatile fits of rage. Neither would capitulate to what the other wanted. Luke apparently wanted some sort of father figure. The dark lord was many things, but a father figure was not one of them. Anakin Skywalker was long dead - gone. There was no bringing him back. Vader wanted his son to be a good soldier: ruthless, efficient, emotionless. There was no room for an attack of conscience in a good soldier - just a willingness to obey orders. Certainly there was no room for friends and sentimental relationships, of which the boy clearly held in abundance.

All of these weaknesses would be eradicated in good time.

Vader smiled again.

Today was the day.

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It was good that he'd observed the red-headed woman's Force sensitivity before, Luke reflected mildly, connecting the last wire that would activate the door, so he was as prepared as he could be, given the circumstances.

The stormtroopers were slow to react to the opening of the door. By the time they realized Luke was actually the one coming through, instead of the droid, Luke had Force-yanked the nearest trooper's blaster to him and felled two of the other troopers. The weapons were set for stun, blue beams burning a trail across his overly-sensitive vision. The remaining two troopers fired at him, and Luke used the dismantled droid body to deflect the shots back at them. The two men dropped soundlessly to the ground.

Which left the woman, standing in the center of the room, blaster aimed squarely at him, green eyes narrowed to slits. "This one's _not _set to stun," she growled pointedly, as if daring him to take a step into the anteroom. "Drop your weapon."

Luke regarded her coolly for a moment, sizing up his opponent, who stood roughly six feet from him. He flicked the safety of the heavy carbine, keenly aware that the longer this stand-off lasted, the less likely he would be to make his escape. "I guess it's a draw, isn't it?" he smiled thinly.

"Don't believe yourself unkillable," she sneered, taking another step toward him. "I work for the Emperor, not Vader. Palpatine is less invested in your continued survival than Vader is."

Luke readjusted his grip on the blaster, aware that precious time was ticking away. Had the woman or the troopers sounded an alarm? Once Vader was alerted to his escape, he would have very little time left. "Well, I'm less invested in my continual survival than any of them, if it's to be in captivity," he shot back. He had this one chance - one flare of using the Force, before Vader zeroed in on him. _Make it count._

He made the pretense of laying his weapon aside, the blaster almost on the floor, when he suddenly lashed out with the Force, seizing her weapon and knocking it to the side.

The blaster fired, but the shot went wide, then the weapon was flying out of her hand, across the room. Luke used that moment to bring his own carbine to bear and fire a shot that also went wide.

Suddenly, in a blur of red hair, the woman was upon him, knocking his feet out from under him, twisting his arm painfully about. From flat on his back, a flare of pain lit up Luke's right shoulder, but he ignored it, freeing his prosthetic right hand and slamming it down across the back of the woman's skull.

She dropped like a sack of rocks.

Luke wasted precious seconds making sure she was still alive - she was - and relieving her of her small blaster and comlink. He hurriedly glanced around - no alarms that he was aware of, no spike of alarm through the Force from passersby. His shields solidly blocked Vader's presence. He could only hope it was enough.

Only when he brought his real hand to his right shoulder, did he look down and realize that the pearl handle of a small vibroblade was embedded to the hilt, blood welling crimson around the edges of the torn black tunic.

_Great. _Just what he needed. Luke stared at it for a short moment, took a deep breath. Strangely, it didn't hurt, though he supposed that was the adrenaline coursing through him. Another deep breath and he got his left hand around the hilt. Then he pulled the knife out in one swift motion.

That did hurt. His vision blacked for a moment, and he dropped the knife, angrily ordering himself not to pass out. Blood was flowing freely down his arm now.

Hesitantly, Luke staggered forward in search of a makeshift bandage. There really was no time. His eyes fell to the medcenter tunic he'd changed out of. Hurriedly, he snagged the pair of pants, awkwardly tying the thin fabric around his shoulder, one-handed. The blood was already beginning to seep through, but it would have to do.

Two more precious minutes ticked by as Luke relieved the nearest stormtrooper of his armor - memories of the Death Star flashing back to him. Stormtrooper armor hadn't been the best idea then, and it probably wasn't now, but it was his only option. He gritted his teeth as the armored sleeve barely fit over the bulk of his bandaged shoulder.

Then, reclaiming the fallen trooper's blaster carbine, he opened the door to the anteroom and slipped casually into the empty corridor.

The trooper's internal comlink was a running commentary of events. For that alone, Luke supposed he should be grateful for the helmet, even if it _did _make it really hard to see.

He attempted to hurry without looking hurried to what he hoped was the nearest docking bay. At the end of the pewter-gray main corridor, several smaller hallways branching out every twenty feet or so, was a bank of four turbolifts. Luke was going to take a chance and assume the docking bays were _down. _

He entered the first turbolift as it opened. Inside stood an officer in olive-dress uniform and two TIE fighter pilots in black flight suits. The Force was with him, then. He would follow the pilots.

He tried to look casual under his armor, mentally checking his shields and what he could sense of Vader. Was the dark lord on the alert? He couldn't tell, didn't dare reach out with the Force to find out. The officer gave him an imperious once-over and returned to the data pad in his hand. They descended level after level, two more sets of officers boarding the lift. Luke's shoulder was beginning to ache furiously. He shut out the pain - he would deal with it later.

Finally, the lift pinged and the two pilots stirred. This was their stop. Luke maneuvered to exit.

Luck was still with him. This level opened up to a series of sizable docking bays. He eyed the direction the pilots were walking, followed at a distance that would not seem suspicious. Now that they had exited the turbolift, they were talking to each other. _Honor flight, _Luke caught from one of them, though he was too far away to hear it all.

Luke recalled from Han that a TIE Honor Flight was a squadron of ships that accompanied a ranking official to a ship or a planet's surface. It was entirely possible Vader was already preparing his shuttle to go to the planet's surface, which would mean Luke had escaped just in time.

It also meant he might be able to slip away easier than planned.

He kept on the pilots' tail, though he let himself blend in a bit more into the background bustle of other pilots and stormtroopers. The pilots turned into a small ready room just outside a bay. Luke could see into the bay and beyond: three neat rows of TIE fighters, and the tantalizing freedom of space just beyond.

He needed a new uniform. On a chance, he reached out tentatively through the Force, and, detecting no life-forms, turned into the ready-room opposite.

The room was dimly-lit, rows of closed lockers lined in a U-shape. Quickly, glancing toward the security cameras he knew would be installed in the corners, he approached a locker in a corner, and shot off the lock.

If he was worried the sound might have called attention to him, it was unfounded. The bustle and echo of activity in the corridor beyond suddenly stepped up a notch when the roar of a starting ship flooded the space.

Luke hurriedly yanked open the locker and found two black flight suits hanging neatly. There was no helmet, but this would be a good start. Another search through the Force to ascertain that no one was coming, and he began peeling off the stormtrooper armor. When he removed the chest armor plating, the blood-soaked pair of gray pants fell away from the knife wound on his shoulder. It appeared the bleeding was slowing a bit. He hoped so.

Suddenly the comlink he'd stolen squealed to life. "Jade, come in," snapped an angry voice. Luke recognized it immediately as Vader's. He had only moments. He deactivated the comlink and crammed it in his pocket, pulled the flight-suit on, and shoved the bloody pair of pants and the white armor into the locker.

Just in time too. Three pilots chose that moment to come into the ready-room, their conversation dying out as they saw Luke.

Luke nodded at them, moved to exit, quickly projecting calm into the Force to assuage their suspicious sense. It wouldn't last long, but hopefully it would get him far enough to…

Suddenly, a ship-wide klaxon sounded, lights in the corridor flashing a strobe-blue. Luke winced at the bright flash.

_Vader. _The dark lord knew he had escaped.

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Vader was still in his meditation chamber, allowing his eyes to drift close, to shut out the minds of the many people aboard the ship, the impatience of his officers, and just focus on his son.

Luke shielded himself well, more than usual, in fact. It was difficult to get a precise bearing on the boy's presence when he did this.

The boy must be agitated about being near Imperial Center. Vader could feel the boy's stress….and his discomfort.

Vader straightened.

Something wasn't right. Perhaps it was time he paid a visit to the boy, and made it clear where his son's destiny lay, his future place in the Empire. Yes, his son wouldn't like it, but perhaps the battle lines must be drawn earlier than later.

Vader reached for his comm to switch it back on. "Captain," he rumbled.

There was a tinny acknowledgement at his elbow.

"Prepare my shuttle and its escort. I will fly to the palace in thirty minutes."

"Yes sir."

Vader toggled another switch, one that replaced the helmet on his head. He stood, another uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Something was amiss.

He reached out with the Force again, to the presence of his son. Nothing but the vague impressions of...excitement? Danger?

He turned and slapped the nearest com. "Captain!"

There was no answer. Vader grimaced and keyed Jade, though he disliked to do so. "Jade, come in."

He waited a long moment, but there was still no answer.

Vader slapped an alarm. "Lieutenant," he barked. "Secure the prisoner in Wing B."

A short bark of acknowledgement and Vader stormed from his quarters. Was it possible Luke would be so foolish as to attempt an escape? Where did the boy think he would go? He wouldn't get far, certainly, with no weapon, still recovering from his injuries.

Vader clenched his fist. If Luke attempted an escape, he would teach the boy a lesson he would not soon forget.

The comlink in his suit trilled for his attention. "My lord!" The Lieutenant sounded afraid. "The prisoner is no longer in his quarters."

Vader's roar of anger shook the corridor around him. "Find him!" he ordered. "Get me all available vid-data and sound the general alarm."

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Up ahead in the corridor, the blast doors to the massive ship bay began to close. Luke quickened his pace to a run, dropping to roll under the door, just as it closed completely.

Quickly his eyes scanned the bay. Three TIE fighters were lifting off, rocketing out of the open bay, while two other ships were powered up, the whine of their engines a tremendous wall of sound that drowned out the sound of the klaxons. Two more pilots were standing next to the nearest TIE, helmeted heads turning to Luke as he passed.

_Follow me, _he thought to them, as he walked past, toward the distant ship, still unmanned.

They did, closing the gap in a quick jog.

His back still to them, Luke felt the small holdout blaster he'd taken from the red-haired woman, thumbed the setting to stun. When he rounded the wing panel of the farthest TIE, he whirled, fired two bolts in quick succession.

The pilots dropped. Luke wrested the helmet off of one of them, mashed it down over his own head, was forced to fire another stun shot at an oncoming fuel tech, and boarded the waiting TIE.

His eyes scanned the unfamiliar controls, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. He could feel the pressure of Vader's mind, pushing at his shields, questing for his presence. TIEs didn't have hyperspace capability, of course. It would have been much better had he been able to snag a ship that _did_, but he was not about to look a gift-bantha in the mouth.

"You are cleared for takeoff," a tinny voice spoke into his helmet.

Then the TIE was moving, autopilot, behind two other ships launching out into the black vacuum of space.

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Vader was on the bridge now, his officers tremulously hovering around him, anxious to rectify the situation, since their lives most likely depended on it.

"Replay the footage from his quarters," he ordered quickly, watching as the screen showed a fast-motion tussle of Luke and Jade, then of Luke donning stormtrooper armor. He turned to Piett. "I need a visual of the corridors - and the turbolift. Which level did he exit?"

"Fighter bays, sir," Piett's voice sounded more nervous now.

"Recall all ships," Vader ordered, a cold knot settling into the pit of his stomach. No. The boy would not escape from him now. "Seal the bays. No one is to leave the docking bays."

"Yes sir."

He was looking at the bay footage now, noting rows of TIEs still taking off. "What are these TIE fighters doing?"

"Your Honor Flight, sir."

"Recall them."

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"Alert," the voice in Luke's helmet announced. "Redacting authorization of takeoff. All pilots return to bay immediately. Repeat, due to ship-wide alarm, all ships return to bay immediately."

It looked as though he'd squeaked out just in time.

The squadron around him broke formation. Up ahead, past stationary-orbital ships just above the planet's surface, Coruscant glittered beckoningly.

The wing commander shouted, "Nine, what are you doing? Drop into formation immediately!" but Luke ignored the order, and pulled hard on the throttle, rocketing toward the planet.

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"Sir, one TIE fighter has broken away from the squadron and is heading toward the planet now."

Vader clenched his fist. The boy. It must be. His son was more reckless than he'd given him credit for.

"Send three fighters after him." Luke surely must know of the futility of such an action. TIE fighters lacked hyperspace capability. He was trapped in-system. Nowhere to go.

His fist clenched tighter. He _would _teach the boy a lesson.

"Shoot him down."

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	24. Chapter 24

Hi there! Hope I didn't leave you having for too long. Thanks for all the feedback!

-T.

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Getting past the drifting traffic over the planet was easy - even with pursuers hot on his tail. There was another voice in his helmet, one that was warning if he didn't return to the ship immediately, he would be fired upon. Luke saw in his scanners that two other TIEs were tight on his tail. He grinned inanely. He was back in a ship, piloting. This was where the fun began.

Green laser fire streaked past the ship's bow, glancing off his shields. Luke's hands skimmed over the unfamiliar controls, dropping the ship down just above the atmosphere.

It looked as though Vader was serious about teaching him a lesson in choice and consequences, regardless of the outcome.

Another shot shook the ship. A warning light flashed red: portside shields were failing. Luke ignored it. If he channelled any more power into shields, he would lose speed, and that was paramount here.

Two more shots. Port shield was gone. Luke dropped the ship down into the atmosphere.

Unfortunately, the widest clear space in air traffic was around the Imperial palace compound itself - the last place he wanted to be. But to kill innocent civilians in a crash-landing, when it could be avoided, seemed unconscionable behavior for a Jedi.

The ship dropped like a stone. Luke's hand fumbled for the ejection seat lever. Timing was everything here. If he could position the ship just right, he would be able to bring the ship into the less-trafficked space in the more industrial zone to the south of the palace compound.

An alarm sounded warning. One more shot to the port-side could end it right there. Luke stared at the targeting computer, at the space between air traffic. Just another second longer…

Suddenly the entire ship seemed to explode in a flash of green laser fire, thick smoke pouring from the console. The alarms were blaring now, smoke pouring out from the tail of the ship.

Luke had no choice but to eject _now. _He pulled hard on the lever and flinched when a tremendous _bang _clapped in his ears, wrenching him upwards into the atmosphere, the roar of air screaming through the helmet. He was falling, freefall for a very long moment, the TIEs screeching past overhead, before the parachute jerked him back, slowing his descent.

The ship exploded in the distance, a plume of red fire shooting up, destroying a squat building. Luke wrested the black helmet off his head, sucking in oxygen, the wind whipping past him, recoiling at the sudden nausea that swept through him at the deaths of the people in that building. Forcibly, he shut out the panic and pain of the survivors, lest it threaten to debilitate him. He would feel all of this later, if he lived that long.

The ground was approaching rapidly, but the reality was, he was going to have to make some sort of diversion if he wasn't going to be immediately met by a squad of stormtroopers the moment his boots touched the planet's surface.

The answer, ironically, came in the form of the very traffic lanes he'd been trying to avoid with the ship.

As he drifted down, close enough now that he could see individual vehicles in the lanes, he took another deep breath, his hands going to the catches buckling his parachute over his shoulders. This was a possible suicide move.

A large transport was moving down the lane. It would be a wide-enough target that he could hit it...hopefully. When the vehicle moved, almost under where Luke would land if he fell, he released the parachute's catches, and began plummeting toward the top of the transport, the parachute drifting away like a weather balloon.

He was able to slow his fall, _just, _hitting feet first with a solid _bang_ on the top of the vehicle, rolling to catch his fall, and nearly rolling off the top of the transport in the process. His fingers caught - barely - onto a small protrusion on the roof, which halted his plummet from the vehicle. He hung there, fighting back the pain coursing through his leg and ribs from the fall - he could deal with those later - the wind whipping past him, catching his breath, noting the alarm radiating from the passengers inside.

He would not be able to stay, of course. He needed to make another jump - this one hopefully not as far.

An open-top speeder passed the transport at just that very moment, piloted by a middle-aged man with a short-cropped beard. Luke got his feet under him, silently apologized to the man in advance, and jumped.

The man swerved his vehicle in a sharp cry of terror as Luke crashed very inelegantly into the passenger seat.

"Just fly!" Luke shouted. He had the blaster in his hand again, aiming it at the man's temple, even as he was scrambling to make sure all his limbs were currently in the vehicle.

"D-don't hurt me," the man stammered, his face white with fear. Suddenly Luke knew the intoxicating appeal of having power over someone like this. He understood his father on some level. He shook the thought away.

"Take us down to the nearest spaceport," Luke ordered, keeping the blaster steady.

The man's hands shook so hard, he could barely keep the speeder in a straight line. "The nearest spaceport is back that way, about four kilometers."

Back toward the Imperial palace.

No. Luke wouldn't do it. "Just keep going straight," he ordered.

The warning in the Force was subtle, but it was all Luke got: the hair on the back on his neck stood on end. He looked up and around to see what danger lurked, only to realize with a jolt, that Vader's presence was suddenly very near. In the distance, beyond blue sky, he could see the faint outlines of ships. Was Vader on one of them?

"Okay, friend," he refocused on the trembling man. "Change of plans. We're going to the surface."

He wished he had the speeder's controls, for he would have gone faster. Behind him, he knew the ships were gaining, too quickly. Luke guessed Vader would be less squeamish about killing a few civilians if it meant his son was back in his grasp.

"Down to the surface, _now!"_ He ordered, grabbing hold of the steering mechanism and jerking it hard to the left.

The man cried out as the speeder plummeted through two lanes, barely missing a collision with an oncoming freight transport.

It wasn't enough. There were still four more lanes of traffic.

"Drop down, or I remove you entirely from your vehicle," Luke cried, feeling anger and desperation ooze up from under all that Jedi calm he had trained to keep in situations such as these.

He would _not _be retaken by Vader.

The speeder plunged, a three-lane drop, the man screaming the whole way down. Ahead in the sky, the ships were almost above them. Down below, the ground was approaching rapidly, crowds of people walking in great hordes. In a less-panicked moment, he might allow himself to feel shock at the massive numbers of beings on this planet, at their colossal sense in the Force, but there was no time for that now.

He got his feet under him in preparation to jump, reflecting mildly to himself that he really needed to start finding other ways besides jumping to make an escape.

The speeder was getting close enough to the surface that the crowds were dispersing in a panic. Forty feet, thirty….

At twenty feet, Luke jumped, tucking and rolling against the biting duracrete as he hit the ground. Pain flared through his head, his leg, and up his arm, but he pushed it aside with the Force, and leapt to his feet. The crowd immediately closed in, just as the ships flew by overhead.

Luke allowed the crowd to push him along, eyes and senses scanning for Imperials. Stars were still sparking through his vision from his leap from the speeder. He could feel the steady pressure of Vader against his mind, pummelling his shields for a location. Luke wasn't about to give it to him.

He wouldn't be safe on the surface for long. Too many patrols and checkpoints. With the Imperials on high-alert, he would not be able to use any Jedi mind-tricks to convince them he was never there, which meant he needed to find a way down into the sublevels.

Luke looked down at his attire. The flight suit he was wearing pegged him as a dead-ringer for an escaped pilot. He kept walking as he unzipped it, peeled the sleeves down off his arms, his senses still extended. The people around him paid him no attention, even when he veered off to the side and halted against a building to pull the suit off over his boots.

He bunched the suit into his hands and started walking again, eyes scanning for a place to dispose of it. His leg and ankle twinged enough that he had to use the Force not to limp. He glanced down quickly at his shoulder, which was throbbing. The wound was still bleeding. He could feel the dampness on his chest and arm. The fabric of his tunic was stiff with blood, sticking to his skin. Thank the Force the tunic was black, since it hid the bloodstain better. Still, there was nothing he could do about it yet, except push the pain back with the Force and hope the bleeding slowed.

There was an open ramp up ahead, unlit. A small sign labeled it as an entrance to the underground transport system. Luke headed toward it, first stuffing the flight suit into a refuse bin at the side of the street.

A lone stormtrooper stood at the entrance to the tunnel. Luke flicked the Force in a direction away from him and the trooper reacted, allowing Luke to walk past, unnoticed.

He descended into the tunnel, his eyes adjusting from the brightness of daylight, which had made his head ache, to the orange glow-lighting of underground. After a short series of stairs, Luke reached the platform, lined with people and other beings. He didn't dare board a transport, since they were more likely to be stopped. No, he must go further down. He stood casually with the crowd, but his mind was questing outward, toward the edges of the underground chamber, searching…

The transport lumbered through the tunnel, all lights and screeching noise, exacerbating the headache that was tightening behind Luke's eyes. He pushed the pain back, walking toward the end of the transport, as though he was about to board.

After exchanging passengers, the transport rumbled away, leaving him staring at a door across the rounded track.

Glancing around to see that no one was watching him, Luke leapt the ten feet across the track, balanced on the narrow ledge, and rested his hand on the keypad. It had been a long time since anyone had used this door, so the code was hard to make out. He closed his eyes, typed four numbers.

The keypad flashed red. He tried the same numbers in a different order.

The door hissed open for him, revealing a long, duracrete stairway, dimly lit by more orange glowrods, descending into the depths.

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"I don't know, Chewie," Han bit his lip, nervous in a way he did not like to admit. "I want to look for him, but it may be too dangerous at this point."

A low growl.

Solo spread his hands defensively. "Hey, pal, we can wait longer - we can even circle around a few times. I'm not leaving the guy."

Daz hadn't shown up at his appointed pickup time.

Even once Vargas had returned on the delivery transport, and had toggled and restarted everything; once they had pinged Daz's comlink - a risky move - there was no response, no signal.

Now they had waited, circling the _Beleaguered Bantha_ four times, trying not to look suspicious.

"I'm afraid we're wearing out our welcome here," Han mumbled. "We've been on this block too long."

Chewie suggested veering into a few side streets before coming back to wait for Daz again.

Han sighed, instinctively glancing behind them to make sure they hadn't picked up a tail. It didn't appear that they were being followed. "Yeah, okay."

The wookiee turned the speeder down darker side-streets, the speeder's running lights sweeping the darkness away. They were in a sort of a shanty-town: shabby structures that were probably houses of some sort, some lit from within, some boarded shut. There were few people walking these streets and fewer lights. Their speeder _would_ look suspicious if they circled back through here again.

Chewie snaked the vehicle slowly around through another passageway. In the distance, a figure ducked into the shadows. Han frowned, something familiar firing inside his brain. He grabbed a fist-full of the Wookie's arm fur. "Chewie, slow down."

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Luke staggered out onto a dark street, four, maybe five levels down. He'd lost track. The street appeared to be mostly abandoned: shanty structures boarded up and closed tight.

The adrenaline was receding now. His ankle was burning, his ribs hurt, his head felt like it would break into two pieces, and his shoulder throbbed with every beat of his heart. He knew he needed to stop, find shelter somewhere, and bandage the wound with something. He now cursed the fact that he'd trashed the flight suit. That fabric could have been used as a makeshift bandage for his shoulder, and would certainly be cleaner than anything he was liable to find down here. And this, of all his injuries, felt somewhat urgent. He was still losing blood, he knew. His entire sleeve and the whole front of the tunic were now soaked through.

Running lights of a speeder preceded the even hum of the approaching vehicle.

Instinctively, Luke ducked out of sight, reaching out with the Force to read the driver's intent. He didn't think the Empire would find him this far down, at least not right away -

He jolted. The passengers of the speeder were familiar. _Very _familiar.

His heart quickening to a staccato that threatened to beat out of his chest, Luke stepped in front of the speeder, waved his hands.

The vehicle screeched to a halt, the top raised, and a tall human stood, backlit by the running lights.

"Luke?"

"Han!" Luke croaked, stumbling forward.

"Kid!?" The other man lurched toward him in two strides, grabbing a fistful of Luke's tunic, pulling him into a fierce embrace, his face complete disbelief. "Kid? How did you - ? What are you - ?" He tousled Luke's hair, pulled back to look at him. "You're alive!"

A warning growl from Chewie coincided with a warning tug of the Force.

Suddenly a red blaster bolt lit up the dark. Han wheeled back to the speeder, yanking Luke by the arm. "Company!" He swung his own blaster back to fire a warning shot to keep their heads down.

Luke crashed into the backseat of the speeder, just as the hood of the vehicle closed over them and Chewie peeled away.

They rode in tense silence a moment until it was clear they weren't being pursued. "I guess we're not in the most stellar of neighborhoods," Han offered. Luke could hear the relief in his voice.

Luke sat up gingerly, dizzy at even this small motion. Chewie slowed down to a more normal speed. "What are you two doing here?"

Han twisted around to look at him. "Trying to rescue _you_, Junior. But the fact that you got yourself out - that's lucky….and it's gonna make our job a tiny bit easier."

Luke nodded, still trying to process everything. "How'd you know I'd be down here?"

Solo arched his eyebrows. "We didn't. We're waiting for one of our operatives to show up from where he infiltrated the palace."

Luke frowned again. He rubbed his aching head, suddenly tired beyond belief, the adrenaline wearing off. They were infiltrating the palace to find him? "Who is it?"

Han faced forward, his eyes scanning the gloom. They were circling a building with a half-lit sign labeling it as _The Beleaguered Bantha. _"Daz Moechen."

"Daz?" Luke tried to recall the dark-haired soldier with a slightly crooked nose and deep-set eyes. "He's missing?"

"Yeah, well, we're not going to panic yet, kid," Han muttered. "He's only a few hours late." Han's grim sense in the Force told another story. He feared the worst for the soldier.

Luke's heart sank. It was bad enough when bad things happened to his fellow members of the Alliance. But the feeling was a hundred times worse when he knew that bad things had happened to them...because of him.

"Hey, kid, you bleeding somewhere I should know about?" Solo held up his hand to the light, only now realizing it was smeared with blood.

Luke grunted. "Um, yeah. My shoulder. I could use some bandages."

Han turned back and squinted at him in the dark. "You okay?"

Luke nodded, still feeling slightly ill over Daz. "I'll be fine."

"Okay, Chewie, let's get back," Solo decided. "Get the kid patched up and get out of here before we have the Imps breathing down our neck."

There was a mournful howl from the Wookiee as he swung the speeder around from the abandoned cantina.

Luke cleared his throat. "Where are we going exactly? I caused quite a stir on the surface - "

"I can only imagine, kid."

" - and we may need to think up a new escape plan."

Han nodded. "We have a place to lie low for a little while, and collect our team."

"Your team?"

Solo turned to throw Luke a lopsided grin. "Yeah, kid. A team. You didn't think we were going to leave you to rot in Vader's clutches, did you? We've been planning for over a month now. We've got people we trust - infiltrating the palace to get you out."

Luke stilled, touched by the realization that he had friends willing to risk their lives to help _him._ Still, once they knew -

"They wouldn't be nearly so willing if they knew whose son I was."

Han's face clouded in anger. He leveled a finger at the Jedi. "Kid, they all know, okay? Every single one of them. And they still chose to come on this mission."

Luke clamped his mouth shut.

"Here we are." The speeder pulled into a duracrete bunker, the door slamming down behind them. "Come on."

Luke followed them through the gloom through a new door and a set of stairs, lit in garish blue light. His heart sank. He was not sure he could do another set of stairs right now. Going down them had been bad enough. He could feel the adrenaline fading, and with it the energy he had maintained the last few hours. His shoulder ached now, a sharp pain all across his chest and down his arm. His ankle felt…not broken, at least, but probably sprained.

But he set his jaw and followed behind Han and Chewie in silence, listening to the labored sound of his own breathing, counting the steps in his brain. He could do this. The hardest part - escaping the Star Destroyer - was past him. If he could pull that off, he ought to be able to make it up a few flights of stairs.

_Sixty-five, sixty-six, sixty-seven, sixty-eight…_ He stumbled on the lip of the step, catching the wall with his real hand, regaining his feet.

"You okay, kid?" Han called again, turning for the first time to regard him. He did a double take, his eyes widening now as he saw the blood-soaked tunic in brighter light. "Kreth, Luke!"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Luke waved him off. "It looks worse than it is."

"Really? Cause that looks pretty bad." Solo came down a stair, caught Luke's uninjured arm by the elbow. "Why didn't you say something? Here." He took Luke's weight off his ankle. "Sit down."

Reluctantly, Luke sank down to the greasy, concrete step, his eyes going to the seeming endless tunnel of stairs above him. The blue light was only exacerbating a massive headache.

Chewie growled, raised his comlink to say something Luke didn't catch.

"We'll get someone down here to help," Han muttered with a frown as he inspected the wound on Luke's shoulder. "Damn, this is pretty deep. You get in a knife fight with someone?"

Luke grimaced, remembering the speed with which she had laid him out on the floor. He should work to improve his hand-to-hand combat skills. "Yeah." He winced as Han pulled the torn fabric away from the wound. "This woman who was guarding my cell."

Solo whistled. "Impressive." He patted his pockets, as if he kept a medkit on the ready. "We need something to stop the bleeding. Chewie, di'gya tell them to bring the medkit?"

Luke shook his head, pressing to his feet. "I can walk," he told Han, feeling a strange mixture of embarrassment and relief at Han's support as the smuggler swung Luke's good arm over his shoulder. "It's not bad." He steadied himself and threw a smile at his friend. "Just like old times, right?"

"What - me saving your butt _again?"_

Luke choked out a laugh.

"You're gonna owe me a new shirt," Solo groused. "You're bleeding all over me."

"Put it on my tab," Luke answered.

There was suddenly a loud slam from the stairwell above, and hurried footsteps. Luke jolted at the familiar presence, turning his face up to the newcomer. "Chewie!" It was Leia's voice, alarmed. "What is it - "

She broke off when she saw them, Luke offering a weak smile from his place, paused on the stairway. He knew he must look terrible. Leia's reaction to him confirmed it.

"Luke!" She cried, running down the stairs to him. "How - ? You're free?" She flew into his arms, heedless of the blood-soaked shirt. Luke winced as she pressed into his wounded shoulder, his vision beginning to tunnel. "Are you okay? What happened? How did you get out? Is Daz - "

"Easy, Princess, he's hurt," Han murmured, holding Luke up so the Jedi didn't fall back down the stairwell.

She drew back in alarm, seeing all the blood for the first time. "Good stars, Luke, what happened?"

Luke blinked, still trying to clear the gray fog in his vision, his head and arms tingling. "I'm okay, Leia, it's just - " he felt his knees buckle, and suddenly it was though he was under water, voices echoing cavernously in his ears, mingling together. He felt frozen in treacle, unable to answer them, frantically scrabbling to the surface of a deep, calm pool, beckoning him to rest.

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"Luke!" It was Leia's voice again. Luke surfaced somehow, his eyes flying open. He was no longer in the stairwell, but resting on some sort of cot. He blinked again. Leia was hovering in his line of vision, her brow creased with worry. "Can you hear me?"

Luke scrambled to sit up. Several pairs of hands pressed him down, voices he didn't recognize murmuring words he could not decipher. Instinctively, he lashed out. There was a crash and shouts. He rolled almost to a sitting position.

"Kid, stop! Luke!" It was Han's voice. The smuggler appeared over him, pushing him back. "Stop! They're trying to help."

He stopped struggling, lay back, eyes shut, realizing where he was. This was not the Empire. He was safe. Vader was not here. "Sorry," he rasped. "Sorry. I'm not…."

"S'okay kid," Solo's hand remained heavy on his arm. "Tellchen here is going to fix you up. You remember Cam?"

Luke opened his eyes and fixed them on the other man. _Cam Tellchen. _ He remembered the man was… "You're the medic?"

The older man nodded. "Yeah."

Luke grimaced. "Sorry," he said again. "My memory's not so…"

Tellchen nodded in understanding. "No offense taken, Luke."

Leia was near, on his other side. She pulled his left hand into hers. Her fingers were icy cold. "We're safe here for now. The fruit-packing plant is an Alliance safehouse."

Luke let his eyes scan the small, windowless room. Han was standing near Chewie now, near the door. Leia was sitting on one side of the cot where Luke lay, Cam on the other. The lights here were the same blue/white as the stairwell. He shut his eyes against the pain of the glare, and wondered if they were really far enough from the Imperial Palace to be "safe" - if it was even possible to be far enough away. Vader and the Emperor would be searching for him by now. Already, he could feel a locus of energy, casting out for him, searching….

He mentally pulled his shields tighter around him and shuddered.

"Sorry," Cam murmured, as he had just poured a strong-smelling disinfectant on Luke's shoulder wound. It burned. "I should have warned you."

Luke shook his head. He didn't have the energy to explain himself.

Leia's cold fingers brushed the side of his head, past the long, angry scar along his hairline. "What happened here, Luke?" Her voice sounded small; tense, as if she already knew the answer.

He turned his gaze to her, squinting in the light as Tellchen was cutting away more of his blood-soaked shirt. "Surgery," he whispered. "I had a head injury…"

There was a long silence in which nobody spoke, all eyes going to Cam, who dropped the shredded remains of Luke's shirt, and pulled the sterile packages of bacta bandages from his field case.

After a moment, Luke let his head sink back into the pillow behind him. Finally, Leia said the words. "From the fall?"

Luke peered into her eyes, seeing the depth of personal responsibility she was prepared to take on; the heavy guilt over what had happened to him on Third Moon. He pursed his lips. "It's not your fault, Leia."

She glanced away.

The silence was thick and uncomfortable. Tellchen was focused very intently on Luke's shoulder, pressing the bacta dressing onto the wound; Han was staring at a distant spot on the floor, his expression a troubled mask.

It was Leia who broke the silence, as if no one else were in the room but the two of them. "I should never have told you to come."

Luke studied her face for a long moment. Of course she would feel responsible for what happened. But how could he explain to her the Force, the Jedi, and what exactly his volatile relationship with Vader was? "It's not your fault," he said again. "Vader - "

"What did he do to you?" She cut in. Her voice was angry, her brown eyes probing, scanning him now for other obvious injuries.

Luke clamped his mouth shut, guarded now. How would she take learning about his hand? Or the many weeks struggling to relearn how to eat, stand, and walk again? How could he explain the empty hole in his heart where a father should have been?

"I'm alright, Leia," he said instead. "I'm alive. The Empire…" he tried a small smile. "...provides very good medical care."

Tellchen glanced up from Luke's shoulder, and laughed shortly. "The perks of being wanted alive." Leia was not amused.

Luke remembered again, Vader's promise to drag him to the Emperor, like a prized Gundark, to complete his training. His own smile faded, the joke landing flat.

Cam was too intent on the task at hand to notice the thick tension that had returned to the room. His brow furrowed as he pointed the medical scanner at Luke. "How is your head now?"

Luke refocused his eyes on the medic. "It hurts," he admitted. "I may have hit a little hard landing on the transport. Or hitting the ground. I can't remember."

"'_Landing_ on a transport'?" Han repeated from his place by the door. "What the hell were you doing?"

Luke grimaced. "Getting shot down from a TIE fighter I stole," he replied. "I was trying to get rid of my parachute before I hit the ground. I thought keeping the chute with me would be like wearing a giant target on my back."

The Corellian straightened. "So you…" he prompted, looking somewhat baffled.

"Cut my chute loose and went in for a landing," Luke finished. He paused. "...On a transport that happened to be passing by."

He saw matching expressions of disbelief on all of their faces. Chewie growled something Luke didn't catch. The Jedi raised his eyebrows to Han. Solo shifted against the wall, rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "He says you're absolutely nuts, kid."

Luke smiled a little at that, at the grudging respect in the Correllian's eyes. It certainly hadn't been one of his brighter ideas, but it had worked, so…

"You should probably try to avoid any more crazy stunts like that, if you don't want to exacerbate that head injury," Cam told him, looking serious now. "I mean it, Luke."

"It wasn't my first choice of exit strategy," Luke informed him, leaning back again into the pillow. "But it worked, at least."

He suddenly felt so very tired. The expression in his eyes must have evident to all present, for Leia snapped into action.

"You need rest, Luke."

Cam nodded in agreement, pulling one final bandage around Luke's shoulder and taping it off. "Yes, you do." He reached down to gather his supplies. "A couple of hours, at least, then we can go."

A siren of warning went off in Luke's brain. He couldn't rest - couldn't just lie here, double-digit kilometers away from the Imperial Palace, with both Vader and the Emperor actively searching for him, and _rest._ He shook his head, slowly easing himself up to a sitting position. "I can rest later. We need to get out of here before they find us."

Han cleared his throat. "Um, small problem there."

Luke raised his eyebrows.

"The team is not back from the palace."

"And we still have no word from Moechen," Leia added.

Luke stared at them. Did they not understand the urgency of the situation? The longer they stayed here, under Vader and Palpatine's noses, the sooner the trap would close. "We can't stay," he argued. "We have to leave."

"And leave our men behind, Luke?" Leia's voice was pained. It invited no argument. "We just need an hour to gather everyone together." She looked at him. "An hour of sleep would probably do you wonders."

Everyone in the room nodded. No one said so, but Luke knew dragging a lame and injured comrade through the Coruscant streets would endanger them all.

An hour-long healing trance could heal his ankle, ease the pounding pain in his head. And Yoda had taught him how to shield himself, even in such a trance.

He shouldn't risk it. A tingling warning in the Force told him to go, to move.

But then, they couldn't leave their compatriots behind either.

"All right," he sighed, sinking back into the firm give of the cot. "One hour. And then we go."

They were already moving to exit the room, to let him sleep.

"Wake me in one hour," Luke called to Leia before she slid the door shut behind her.

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ooooooooooooooooooooooo

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Darth Vader, after swooping recklessly close to the surface of Coruscant, past the smoking wreckage of the ship, over the swarming traffic lanes, and seeing/sensing no detectable sign of his son, flew straight for the palace, docking his I-TIE in his private bay, and releasing an angry roar of frustration into the universe.

Luke had been very foolish to pull such a stunt. But Vader would get him back. He reached into the Force, lashed his sense out across the overly-populated Coruscant skyline, searching for the bright wash of light that was his son's presence. The boy would not be able to hide forever, especially so close by

He couldn't detect even a flicker.

Vader barrelled through the glass-walled corridors of the palace, down the private turbolift, in a foul mood.

Court was in session, and the dark lord glared at the hangers-on, simpering around Palpatine until the red guard closed the colossal doors behind them. And they were alone.

"Where is my Jedi, Lord Vader?"

Palpatine had risen from his massive throne on its ebony dais, and walked slowly, steadily to the edge of the room, the click of his cane the only sound in the massive room. The planet's sun was low on the horizon now, orange sunlight luminescing the entire throne room through the length of the massive bank of windows. No other building came close to matching the palace in height. No vehicles or ships were allowed in the prescribed radius around the towers, which made for a spectacular, unobstructed view.

It was this view the Emperor peered at now, all of it beneath his notice, save for the whereabouts of a single human. Vader's son.

Vader braced himself. The failure was his own. He had underestimated Luke's ability to get past his guards in the state he was in; had underestimated the boy's determination to leave. He was well-acquainted with Palpatine's anger, and fully expectant that it would be turned on him.

"Well?" the ruler sneered, turning his hooded-visage to regard Vader, yellow eyes leering in the shadows. "What have you to say for yourself?"

"He is," Vader offered, "very powerful, in spite of his injuries."

Palpatine's thin lips drew back to reveal his ruined teeth, a snarl of accusation on his face. "You let him go. Didn't you?"

Vader was silent.

"Answer me." The voice was quiet, deadly with cold rage.

"He escaped, my Master," Vader allowed. "I had his ship shot down, so he could not get further afield."

Palpatine stood to regard him for a very long, tense moment. Vader stood statue-still, waiting for retribution, should it come. It would not be the first time.

Abruptly, the Emperor turned back to the window, impatient. "He is still on-planet," he growled.

"Yes, my master."

"Find him." Vader could feel a cold, merciless smile forming on the old man's lips, even though he could not see Palpatine's face. "And bring him to me."


	25. Chapter 25

This chapter is on the shorter side, but I just wanted to top toss it out here anyway. While I've been working on the ending of this story, I started cranking out chapters of an entirely different AU tale of Luke and Mara, called Old Friends. Check it out. Thanks for all of your follows and thoughtful reviews and comments.

A note about my take on Vader: he is fundamentally emotionally flawed. He is obsessed with Luke because Luke is his son and "belongs" to him in some way. To me, that doesn't translate into "love" the way fanfic writers often portray him: indulgent, affectionate. That doesn't compute to me.

Anyways, I love to hear your thoughts and why you do or don't agree. Enjoy the story!

-T.

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It was a dark, inky blackness, spreading out in a toxic bloom, icy tentacles grasping at him, choking off the air, pulling him back in against his will. He scrambled to flee, to make himself small - invisible - and then when that failed, to swing with all his strength, to strike back at the cloying, suffocating darkness, all the while realizing he was drowning in its depths, the cold like a black, frigid lake, infinitely deep, pulling him under -

Luke gasped to wakefulness with a half-shout of fear, jolting upright in the dark, the icy terror cold against his skin, the nexus of malevolent power reaching for him -

\- and he caught his breath, though he had already lurched out of bed to his feet, halfway across the darkened room, the sliver of light from the room beyond the only thing his frantic eyes could see.

And he remembered, all of it tumbling down on him in a jumble of mental snapshots: the escape from the Star Destroyer, crashing the fighter; Han and Chewie in the sub-levels; Leia's worried frown as she ordered him to rest.

He was safe. He was with friends. Safe.

Slowly, willing his heartbeat to stop thudding in his ears, he sank back down onto the narrow pallet, cold sweat on his face. He'd gone into a healing trance. He remembered: the blinding headache - gone now - and the pain in his ankle and ribs.

He moved his foot cautiously. The pain was gone. Taking another steadying breath, he felt for the bandages on his shoulder. A dull ache remained, like he'd overused the muscles, but nothing like the grinding pain of the original wound.

Luke glanced up toward the door again, his eyes adjusting to the darkness enough to make out vague shapes. He'd told Leia to wake him in an hour. He didn't have a chrono and didn't know what time it was. Cautiously, he reached out with the Force. The presences of Han and Leia were close by. They seemed tense, grim. He drew back suddenly as that dark knot of power from his dream seemed to pull at him again.

Vader and Palpatine.

Taking a steadying breath, Luke pulled his mental shields around him like a cloak, obscuring his presence from the grasping darkness, and rolled to his feet.

He managed to turn on the lights, wincing as the bright glare flooded the space. His boots were set on the floor near the cot and a gray shirt was folded neatly on the chair. He put the shirt on carefully, gingerly moving his injured arm, sitting on the bed again to pull on his boots. The blaster he'd brought with him was nowhere to be seen. He wished briefly for his lightsaber, but brushed the thought aside. His saber was with Vader. He would simply have to adjust to getting along without it.

There were footsteps in the corridor, urgent, coming in his direction. Tensing, he reached out with a tendril of the Force...

"Luke?" her voice was soft, on edge. The door slid open and she stood, booted feet planted, the dark brown of her fitted tunic matching the color of her eyes. Luke rose to his feet as she stepped past the threshold.

"Something's wrong." He felt it, in his bones, the same dark foreboding that had grasped at him in his dream.

She drew back, studied him for a minute. Then Luke saw: She already knew.

"How long was I out? What time is it?" He was looking toward the corridor beyond, fresh worry sending a cold chill down his spine. Were the others…? "How long - " he began again.

"Six hours," she answered frankly. Her hand was gripping the sleeve of his tunic. "We tried to wake you, Luke, but you wouldn't wake up. By then, we had sent the others ahead to another ship - and Cam was with them and we worried something was wrong with you - "

"_Six hours?" _he repeated in disbelief, pushing past her to the corridor. _No. _Too much time. The Emperor would know. They were too close to the palace. He would have honed in on their location by now... "Where's Han? Chewie?"

"Chewie's gone on Telfor's freighter with Artoo and the rest of the team," she answered, following close behind him. Luke had no idea where he was headed. "They made it off-planet. Han is - "

"We have to leave here, right now," Luke insisted, without turning. "Han - "

"Right here, kid," Solo appeared at the junction of the corridor, forehead creased with concern. "You feeling okay?"

"Luke, there's a problem - we can't leave right now." Leia's voice turned him around, cold dread knotting in his gut.

"What?" He looked from Han to Leia. Was it Daz? Had the soldier still not been found? Did they no longer have a ship? "Why not?"

"Come see for yourself, kid," Han offered, looking resigned as he turned and led them down the corridor to an open lounge/kitchenette, unlit and empty. A wide bank of tinted windows, looking out to the blackness beyond the building confirmed the dread: It was most certainly past nightfall. Worse still, six hours put them closer to the coming dawn, where they would no longer have the luxury of the cover of darkness.

Han gestured. "Down there, on the surface." He waved his hand vaguely. "Or up there, in the sky. Take your pick."

Cautiously, Luke approached the window and looked out. He saw...nothing. No speeder traffic criss-crossing multiple lanes, or the lights of landing ships. He shook his head, turning back to them, that same knot of sick dread tightening a fist in his stomach. "I - I don't understand."

"The Emperor has issued a planet-wide curfew, in effect for the next seventy-two hours." Leia's voice was very quiet. "Anyone caught on the streets will be arrested or shot. No ships may leave the planet."

"More disturbing," Han added, "is your mug is on every screen, datapad, transport…Whatever. Wanted criminal. Extremely dangerous."

Luke backstepped, a chill sweeping down his spine. _The entire planet on lockdown? Because of him? _He glanced back at the window, at the empty sky, the dark shadows of skyscrapers pin-pricked with hundreds of tiny lights. "Can he do that?" he whispered.

"He _did," _Han pointed out grimly. "Five hours ago. Barely thirty minutes after we sent the team on to the ship."

"And Daz?" Luke asked, pushing aside for a moment the self-loathing that told him this was all his fault. He should have listened to his gut instinct and insisted they leave immediately, and not gone into a healing trance. "Daz has been found?"

Han dropped his gaze. "No, kid. We searched until the lockdown forced us back. No sign of him."

Luke sank weakly down into the low sofa, his eyes on the black pane of the window. At best, Daz was dead. At worst, their location could be compromised.

"We have to leave here," he said in a low voice, grateful now for the darkness of the room. Even if their location was not known, Palpatine could search with robotic drones at windows, scanning for life-forms, use facial-recognition technology….

He turned from the window. The darkness of the room was not enough, of course. "We need to get out of here," he said again. He had doomed everyone by not leaving for the ship immediately. "This is all my fault - "

"No, Luke, it's not," Leia interrupted sternly. "We had no idea he would crack down like this. We couldn't have left then without leaving five men behind. You were injured, which could have compromised everyone's cover. And anyway," she seemed determined not to let him regret the past. "Deciding who to blame will not help us get out of this situation."

Luke expelled a frustrated sigh. In spite of all his effort, here he was, a danger to his friends. "Then you should leave me. The Empire doesn't know you're here. They're just looking for me. If we separate - "

The expression in Leia's eyes was suddenly wild; afraid. "We're not abandoning you," she snapped, sounding angry now. "We've come this far to bring you back safely. We're not leaving you to the Emperor's mercy. Besides," she gestured to the dark window. "We can't go anywhere either. We're stuck here for the time being."

Every nerve in his body told Luke they could not stay here a moment longer. He shook his head. But where _could _they go? "What about the speeder in the sublevels?" he asked Han.

Solo pursed his lips. "The Empire's _in _the sublevels right now," he answered. "I've never seen them care past level two, but there were stormtroopers milling around five."

"Then we go deeper."

The smuggler laughed humorlessly. "At some point, kid, you should be more afraid of what lurks in the sublevels than you should of the Imperials."

Luke pressed his palm into his forehead, racking his brain. "Do you have smuggler contacts - someone who could get us out of here….or passage off-planet?"

Han considered for a moment, biting down on the inside of his cheek. "I don't think we could come up with that kind of hazard pay," he said slowly. "Not anyone I can think of would be willing to go up against Vader or the Emperor. Especially not when turning you in would be infinitely more profitable."

"Or we can stay calm and stay put," Leia offered. "It's been six hours already. If they haven't found us yet, this could be the safest place for us."

"And if Daz has been compromised?" Luke shot back with more fire than he'd intended. "Then we're sitting in a death trap."

Leia clamped her mouth shut.

Luke turned back to the window, his mind churning. They could not leave, but his sense in the Force told him they could not stay.

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ooooooooooooooooooooo

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"It seems we have had an intruder." Palpatine's words cracked in the dry silence of the great hall, the glowing red of hot coals stirred in the open hearth the only light in the vast room. The Emperor sat almost casually upon the ornate chair before the fire, his back to Vader, gaze fixed once again on the skyline and the darkness beyond. "A Rebel soldier managed to infiltrate the palace in the guise of an ISB agent."

Palpatine stood, turning to Vader now, the sleeve of his rich velvet cloak hiding the hand that held his cane, yellow eyes peering balefully at the Sith Lord. "Presumably with the intention of freeing Skywalker from his imprisonment."

A dark anger settled on Vader, a dual sense of infringed possession, committed both by the Rebels and by Palpatine. When had this occurred? Why had he not been told? He'd spent most of the night tearing through Coruscant in a futile search for his son, all the while the Emperor played his little power games back at the palace...

He swallowed back the indignation with great effort, _knowing_, if Palpatine were to see this weakness, he would seize upon it immediately and torment Vader further with the waiting.

He wisely chose not to answer.

The Emperor continued, perhaps sensing the dark lord's internal conflict and basking in the control he wielded. "He has, of course, been taken into custody." He paused dramatically. "And was good enough to tell us, before he died last hour, everything we wanted to know."

Vader carefully reigned in his anger. Had he known of this Rebel infiltrator, he would have interrogated him himself, rather than rely on the information carefully dispensed through Palpatine. It was another way for the despot to enact his control over the dark lord. And the Emperor reveled in it.

"Did this person act alone or with accomplices?" he asked finally.

Palpatine chuckled. "Oh, with accomplices. Unfortunately," his pale lips drew back to show his ghastly smile in the half-darkness, "it appears some of them have already fled the system before the curfew was enacted."

Vader clenched his fist against the sound of the despot's throaty chuckle. If he was too late - if the boy slipped from his fingers now -

"Oh, calm yourself, Vader," Palpatine clucked, his smile disappearing. "You and I both know that boy hasn't left the planet. He is still here and we will find him. Very soon."

Vader knew he was being led, but took the bait regardless. "You have a location." It was not a question.

Palpatine inclined his head, gracious enough to allow this. "It appears the Rebel Alliance can spread its infestation within mere kilometers of our stronghold here." His face hardened. "A problem I intend to rectify swiftly."

Vader waited as Palpatine turned his face again to the glowing coals of the fire. "The Telfor Fruit-Packing plant. Destroy it. And bring the boy to me."


	26. Chapter 26

There was still good in his father.

The thought came to Luke as he was sitting in the lounge, gaze distant - the room still bathed through the window in the dim light of the muted city - the fingers of his artificial hand fidgeting restlessly with the straps of the survival pack laid out on the table. His mind was working feverishly, ignoring his danger sense blaring to distraction, anxiety clenching in his gut.

The animosity that leaked through the Force felt alien, as though Vader were forcing out his aggression - Luke could only assume - for the sake of the Emperor, whose cloying, cankering presence Luke could identify nearby, even though it was muted, and cloaked in darkness. It singed the edges of his tenuous connection with the dark lord, invading, imbuing the fragile link with an added tinge of dread.

But through it, past Palpatine's invasiveness and his own locked-tight mental shields, Luke caught it again, faintly: there was still good in his father, somewhere deep down.

In the end, the deciding factor on whether or not to leave was the explosion.

Han was standing at the water dispenser, a bulb of water in his hand, in the middle of saying, 'Here's the thing, kid' before he took a sip; Leia was in the corridor, returning from warning Barton Meade of the danger he could be in - insisting that Luke not show his face, lest any of the workers see him and recognize him, and that was _after _she had foisted a capsule of black hair dye on him and a set of contacts that turned his eyes dark brown.

She was just coming around the corner, nearing the lounge when Luke leapt to his feet, no longer hearing Han over the single tone warning of the Force, the decision made. The choice was to… _run._

The straps of the survival pack were in his fist. His free hand seized Solo by the sleeve, spinning the other man around, the drink bulb flying.

"Luke, wha - "

"_Run!"_ Luke ground out, his voice raw fire. "Down to the speeder - go!"

Leia appeared at the corner, her face and sense alarmed. Luke nearly crashed into her, shoving the survival pack into her arms. "Run!" he repeated.

It was twenty steps to the stairwell, the door slamming shut at their backs when the first explosion ripped through the building, thunder shuddering through the walls in a violent tremor.

They ran, stumbling, panicked noiselessness down the duracrete stairs. The harsh blue lights flickered overhead and then went out completely. As Solo cursed, alternately running, tripping, and fumbling for his pocket lumen, a second explosion rumbled ahead, rattling the stairwell and sending fine dust falling around their heads.

"Are you sure Vader wants you alive?" Solo snapped, breathless.

Luke shook his head, the gut-wrench of more deaths twisting his stomach, more innocent lives lost - because of him. "I don't think he knows I'm here."

That, or this aggression didn't originate from Vader.

"The factory employees - " Leia ground out, her voice distressed. "We have to help them - "

"It's too late to help them," Luke snapped back, his eyes scanning the stairs in the warped light. She could not feel what he could feel….the sick nausea of so many deaths. It didn't make sense, really. If they were looking for Luke, they would want to take prisoners and interrogate them, not murder them outright…

Unless the Emperor's strategy was precisely this: systematically murder people to flush him out of hiding.

Luke swallowed, coughing against the thick dust, cold sweat on his face. They were nearly to the door. He felt ill. He could hold out against many things, but murdering innocent people would eventually drive him to surrender, and perhaps Palpatine knew it.

He didn't have long to dwell on it. Han, ahead of them, was hissing for their silence. They had reached the bottom of the stairs, the space plunged into darkness once again as Solo switched off the light. Reflexively, Luke reached out with his senses past the stairwell, to the dark streets beyond, scanning for any sign of danger. It seemed clear.

Silently, Han, his blaster drawn, keyed the door open. The underground street before them was darker than Luke remembered. The cheap sodium lights of the cantina's signs, casting their garish glow in eye-searing colors, no longer lit up the space. All that remained for light was the greenish hue thrown by sporadic streetlamps, showing an uncharacteristically empty street.

"It's clear," Luke whispered. Solo nodded shortly, and motioned them forward. They keyed the bay for the speeder and Luke said to Solo, "I'll pilot."

Han frowned, looked for a minute like he was going to argue, and then nodded. Leia slipped into the back seat, her sense and expression strained.

The sound of the speeder starting, once they were in the vehicle, seemed to announce their presence on the empty alleyway. Luke cringed, his sense fanning out to catch any spike of alarm in the Force that would indicate they'd been spotted. There was nothing yet. They wouldn't wait around for it to happen either.

He pulled the vehicle out of the bay and down the empty street, keeping his speed even to avoid attracting attention.

"And where are we headed exactly?" It was Han's voice, on edge. Perhaps he was nervous after Luke's tale of landing on the transport in the sky lanes.

"Down," was Luke's only answer.

"Your funeral, kid," Solo grunted at him, just as a burst of green laser fire lit up the dark.

Luke had just a moment's warning from the Force to jerk the speeder to the left, to the surprised shout from his passengers, leaning into the throttle full-force, any thought of stealth instantly forgotten.

"Go faster - go - go!" It was Han's voice. Luke saw, in the peripheral part of his focus not centered on dodging the heavy laser fire behind them, that Solo was gripping the plastene seat hard enough that his knuckles were white.

The speeder leapt forward, servos whining in protest as Luke threw it into a turn it had not been designed to make. He pulled the throttle back as far as it would go, the green-tinged street lamps blurring into a swampy haze. "Get on the navigator," he barked to Han. "I need an entrance to the lower levels, something…."

"You've got two more on your tail," Leia snapped grimly from the back. Luke's eyes flicked to the scopes. They were smaller swoops, manned by, near as he could tell, two stormtroopers.

Another flash of laser fire from one of the speeder bikes. "Is this thing armed?" Luke's fingers flew over the controls, while his other hand leaned into the throttle. _Weapons…. "_Han, find something that shoots!"

"Yeah kid," Solo was still flicking at the navigator, and dropped his hand down to another set of buttons. "Rear quad guns? That'll do." His thumb pressed the firing button. On the rear scanners, a brilliant orange flash lit up the dark.

"You missed," Leia announced tersely.

Han twisted around to give her a poisoned glare. "I'd like to see you do better, your Highnessness!"

"Switch me places and I will," she shot back.

"Guys!" Luke snapped in exasperation. He jabbed at the firing mechanism Solo had just vacated. "This isn't the time or place." This time, he hit the swoop. The speeder spun out of control, catching his buddies in the process. The explosion was a blinding fireball that blanked out the viewport for a minute - Luke was flying blind - and propelled their own speeder forward, Luke wrestling the controls, in order to keep from careening into one of the dilapidated buildings.

"Han, get me navigation. We need a point of entry."

Solo smacked the screen. "Our best shot is probably the sewers, kid."

"Sewers?" Leia's voice echoed in audible disgust.

Solo sneered back at her. "For present company too proper to take this guided tour of Coruscant's underworld, might I suggest you disembark - "

"Stop arguing!" Luke snapped, with a little more fire than he meant to. His nerves felt frayed, and their bickering was keeping him from being able to think. "I just need it to be quiet for a moment."

Everyone silenced. Luke raised a hand to the console and realized it was shaking. It had been that close: his friends nearly caught in the Emperor's closing web. Something about having them along with him made him nervous in a way he knew he would not be if he were alone.

He could not hold out against a threat to Han or Leia.

"Point three kilometers to the right, kid," Han's voice was even now, all business. "Sharp turn. Might be kind of narrow, but I think we'll make it."

Narrow was an understatement. Luke turned, a little too fast, into a sloped tunnel, its mouldering, dripping roof just barely clearing the top of the speeder, the navigator lights illuminating crumbling brick infrastructure just inches away on each side.

"It we get stuck…" Leia warned, her threat trailing off to give Luke the silence he needed to concentrate on piloting the tunnel.

"Kreth," Solo muttered. But Luke had already sensed it: they were being trailed by another swoop. He grimaced.

"Okay, hold on tight."

He leaned into the throttle again, the tunnel ahead of him blurring into a smear of gray as they picked up speed. It took a good deal more concentration to pilot at this speed in such a confined space. He didn't want to think of what would happen if the swoop fired at them. The sewer gases might vaporize them all.

Apparently the pilot of the swoop wasn't an idiot. He kept pace with the speeder, but did not engage his weapons. Up ahead, a turn loomed, and Luke banked sharply, barely cutting his speed in time. The swoop nearly slammed into the wall behind them.

"Slight drop up ahead," Han announced, eyes on the navigator, bloodless fingers still gripping the seat. He would never admit it, but he couldn't stand to be the one in the passenger seat. It made him nervous. Luke focused his eyes, unblinking, reaching out with as much as the Force as he felt was safe, considering Vader and Palpatine were casting out their mental searchlight to hone in on him.

The drop ahead was sudden, and straight down. Luke took the downward turn in a stomach-clenching free-fall, reaching out with the Force to detect the point where they would hit ground again. If he was not careful, they'd be nothing but a dark splatter on the sewer floor. He reached out with the Force to slow their plunge. _The speeder was nothing more than the boulders he'd sent spinning in orbit while planted in a handstand on Dagobah._ He hoped Vader and Palpatine wouldn't be able to track his location, but it was irrelevant really. He had no other choice. Dimly, he heard his passengers screaming as their plunge dropped them down the tunnel, vertical now. Luke sensed the approach of the ground a split second before they hit; twisted the speeder in a nauseating serpentine, until they were level again, careening away down a new tunnel that branched out horizontal from the one they'd just exited.

The swoop behind them was not so lucky. It smacked into the sewer floor, an eruption of vile liquids, and then, a terrific explosion to light up the dark.

Luke's suspicion that an explosion would be deadly for all parties involved proved to be correct. In that moment, he knew it was time to use the Force to his full potential - his location be damned - or they would all die.

As the speeder careened away, the orange fireball shot through the narrow space, the heat from the searing flames lapping at the vehicle, Luke reached out through the Force, creating a shield - a barrier - between the explosion and the small craft. It was difficult to split his attention between flying - not crashing into the sodden stone walls - and keeping the heat and flames at bay. He closed his eyes, gasping at the sensation of the searing heat of the fire, and the sudden spotlight of awareness that was both Vader and Palpatine honing in on him.

They found him. They knew precisely where he was.

Whoops inside the speeder brought him back to himself. Han was hollering, "That was unbelievable, kid!" Leia was laughing in a frightened gush of relief.

Luke heaved a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, saw that the flames were receding behind them, and that there was a possible exit ahead.

"Slight drop?" He demanded, when he could find his voice again. "You said it would be a _slight_ drop!"

"You handled it magnificently," Han grinned, his bravado hiding the jittery aftermath of his terror, as Luke, their speed considerably reduced, took the tunnel branching to their right.

This new passageway opened up to a large cavern of sorts, pitch dark save for the running lights of the speeder. Luke slowed the vehicle to a cautious crawl.

"Where are we?" Leia muttered from the back seat, her voice again the tone of disgust from earlier.

"Who knows, Princess?" Han drawled. "Maybe ten, eleven levels down?"

Luke pursed his lips. "We did fall pretty far."

"Empire'll never find us down here," Solo crowed.

Luke shook his head, eyeing a pack of medium-sized rodents scurry out of the light. "I hate to break it to you both, but… " one of the rodents turned to face the speeder, rearing up about a meter high on its hind legs and baring a double row of razor-sharp teeth, dark fur rippling in aggression, a single white-blind eye reflecting in the glare of the lights. Luke grimaced in repulsion. "Thanks to my little stunt back there, both Vader and the Emperor now know precisely where I am."

"What?" It was Leia's voice, shocked and dismayed. "How can you be so sure?"

Han was tellingly silent, his gaze flicking up to Luke and back down to the navigator. Luke supposed the smuggler had witnessed his fair share of incidents where Luke and Vader had tracked each other through the Force, enough to not be terribly surprised. "We can outrun them, kid." He didn't sound especially confident.

"_You _can outrun them," Luke corrected. His mind was made up now. He would do whatever it took to protect them from Vader and Palpatine...and from himself. "I want you to take the speeder - go far away from here, in the opposite direction."

"What about you?" Leia's voice was accusatory. She was not letting him out of her sight again. "We're not leaving you, Luke."

"I don't have a choice, Leia," Luke shot back, anxiety for his friends' safety threatening again to override his calm. "When they capture me - I won't be able to - I mean…" he fumbled for the right words. "If anything were to happen to either of you, I would have to give in to Palpatine's demands. I won't be able to hold out against that."

He sagged back in the seat, his ears ringing with the silence of the small cockpit, the knowledge of what Vader had referred to as his 'weakness'. He wondered if his father had any such weakness; a primal need to protect his own.

Luke didn't think so.

He heaved a short sigh. It no longer mattered. His connection to Vader - he could hardly call it a relationship, could he? - was irrelevant; the delusional dreams of a lonely orphan kid. Reality was a slap in the face, but he could accept it. He could set it aside. Time to grow up; become a good soldier.

But not for the Empire. He'd be damned if he didn't go kicking and screaming the whole way down.

The silence stretched. Luke piloted cautiously through another narrow set of tunnels, the speeder splashing down into a deeper pool of muck that sprayed in all directions, splattering filth over the viewport, before bobbing back up to skim over the surface. Luke cringed again. Leia was right. This place _was _disgusting.

"You're not getting out here," Leia told him, as if she had read his thoughts. "I will not let you off to face the Emperor and Vader alone, and I will certainly not do it here, where at best you'll come out smelling like the worst type of garbage pit, and at worst, food for that pack of nasty animals back in that cavern."

Luke tucked away a small smile. Leia was formidable enough of an opponent on her own. "I don't know," he said carefully. "I feel like I have _some _experience." He raised his eyebrows. "The trash compactor?"

"Don't remind me," Solo growled.

Luke laughed quietly, though his mood was sober, and his smile quickly faded. He kept his eyes trained on the dark path in front of him. "I wanted to say thank you to you both...for all you've done for me." Emotion welled in his throat. He may not have family - may have a father with a strange and demented version of love for him, but he'd been given the most loyal set of friends. All the times they'd stuck their necks out for him, risked their own lives….it was a love he would never forget. "Thank you," he said again, his voice a whisper.

It was Han's turn to raise his eyebrows. Maybe this was sounding suspiciously like a eulogy. "We're not leaving you, kid," he said sternly. "So put this out of your mind. We're going to get out of here."

Luke expelled another sigh, his mind churning. He could feel the relentless pressure of Vader's mind pushing at him, coming closer, and just behind it the oozing dark maw of Palpatine. He shuddered and mentally pulled his shields tighter. They were following another tunnel now, one with a gradual incline, another set of sharp-tooth rodents scurrying out of the way of the oncoming vehicle and disappearing into the sludge below. It may well be that they could continue their foray through the tunnels for kilometers, past the area of the palace compound, closer to a place of safety, but something told Luke the net was tightening much too quickly for that.

He pulled back on the throttle, increasing their speed, though not quite as much as when they were outrunning the swoops. The tunnel spit them out onto a new level, this one looking much like the previous one, another large cavern reflecting, cave-like, the light of the speeder's running lights in the brackish sludge below.

Han gestured wordlessly to the entrance to another tunnel, the incline more severe this time, and Luke turned, heading up.

This particular tunnel followed a more predictable route, a pattern of inclining switchbacks, opening up wider - three speeder-lengths across now. He increased the speed as the tunnel widened, noticing on the exit paths the return to some semblance of civilization - glowlamps, a street, perhaps, shanties that looked suspiciously like dwellings. He had no idea what level they were on.

There was a flare in the Force. "We picked up another tail," Solo muttered, frowning hard at the navigator screen.

Luke's heart thumped in his chest, as he glanced at his scopes. Not one, he realized. Five swoops were behind them now. "Where do they keep coming from?" he ground out, pulling on the throttle again.

The speeder whined in protest as Luke forced it up the incline, faster now, blurring the scenery around them. He fired on their pursuers as they came too close - and managed to explode one - but noted, curiously, that they weren't firing back.

"Three more just joined them," Leia announced from behind him. Her voice was grim now.

It looked like they had no choice but to head to the surface. In fact, they were being herded there.

"Can you exit off to one of the sublevels?" Han asked, echoing Luke's own thoughts. But no, the next sub-level was bristling with four swoops at the entrance; the next level six sat waiting. As they passed each level, the waiting swoops fell into formation behind their speeder. They were now being trailed by roughly twenty speeder bikes. Too many.

Luke gradually slowed the speeder, delaying the inevitable return to the surface, flanked, as they were, along all sides by Imperials. The jig was up. He started when he felt a heavy hand on his arm; turned half-heartedly to see Han, face grim, peering into his eyes. Leia's hand came from behind, landing comfortingly on his shoulder.

"We're not abandoning you, kid." Han held his gaze.

Luke shut his eyes briefly, allowing himself to feel, just for a moment, the calm, grounding weight of their love.

When he opened his eyes, they were at the surface, the predawn darkness casting the wide, empty street in black shadow, duracrete buildings towering canyon-like above them, the malevolent locus of the Force a knot of darkness, nauseating in its intensity.

Blocking the way in both directions was a barricade of soldiers and ground speeders stretched from building to building.

Standing front and center of all this impressive collection of firepower were two forms, dressed entirely in black; one tall, his immensely proud bulk looming; the other, deceptively wizened, leaning on a cane, yellow eyes almost glowing in the darkness. Luke felt the intensity of that putrid gaze, even from this distance, searing into his soul, gleefully possessive.

The chase was over.


	27. Chapter 27

So sorry this has taken such a long time to update. I had to write to the end and make sure it all fit together. The bad news: I'm going to leave you on cliff-hanger. The good news: I'll post the next chapter sooner. We are almost to the end of this story. Thanks for hanging out with it. I never expected it to get this long and out of hand, but here we are. Thanks for all the feedback! Enjoy! -T.

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Luke brought the speeder to a halt just past the mouth of the tunnel. Roughly twenty meters behind them, he could sense the approach of three troopers, on foot.

"Han?" he whispered, his eyes locked on the figures of Vader and the Emperor up ahead. "You're going to pilot."

"What are you talking about, kid?" Solo's gaze was also fixed on the scene in front of him, his tone nervous.

"I'm going to create a diversion," Luke murmured, keeping his voice deliberately calm as he unlatched his restraints. "When I do, I want you to throw this thing into reverse and drive like hell back down that tunnel."

"What?" Leia interrupted. Luke could feel her eyes boring into the back of his skull. "What about you?"

He swallowed, pushing back his fear and the pulsing foreboding of seeing the Emperor slowly advancing on them. "You need to do this. I don't intend to go down without a fight. But I need you both safely away."

"What about you?" Leia demanded again. "We can't just let you - "

"I'm going out there," Luke cut in, hearing the strain in his own voice as he spoke. "Whether you choose to do something with the distraction I make is up to you." He turned and locked eyes with her - seeing the fierce loyalty smoldering in her brown eyes. "But if you don't, we all die."

Leia shut her mouth against reminding him of the last time Luke had created a diversion so she and Han could escape, to which Luke was thankful. He needed to focus. Her gaze did not flinch from his.

A hand closed around his on the throttle. He glanced back sharply to see the understanding in the Correllian's eyes. "We've got this, kid."

Luke nodded back, grateful he didn't have to argue with Han. "Be careful," he whispered, touching the button that activated the hatch.

The door to the speeder lifted open. He stood, his hands visible, slapping the hatch door shut behind him. It wasn't that he thought no one could see the other passengers still inside, but he intended to call the attention away from them.

"I'm unarmed," he announced out loud as a cool, early-morning breeze stirred his hair, drying the cold sweat that stood out on his forehead. He set forward, his gaze locked on Vader and the Emperor, who had stopped walking toward him. They were standing in the middle of the street, a wide space behind them, two even rows of armed stormtroopers standing back seven meters or so, their collective aim trained on him. He took another step forward, then another, and another. The silence was heavy, the piercing gaze of the Emperor tracking him as he approached. Luke forced himself to meet that gaze, unflinching, centering Palpatine's greedy focus on him alone.

Darth Vader's respirator was a steady metronome for his footfalls, the sound of his boots striking the duracrete, bringing him closer to his captors. Vader was wearing two lightsabers on his belt, Luke realized with a start - his own and Luke's.

What did that mean? Did he intend for Luke to use the lightsaber? Against whom?

"Who are your friends, Jedi?" The Emperor spoke, his voice a harsh rasp, grating on Luke's ears. Luke stopped a mere ten feet from the two Sith lords, forced his attention back to that putrid gaze, the wrinkled, rotting flesh hidden under the cowl of his robe. The boogy-man tales he'd heard of Palpatine as a child scarcely compared to the terrifying feeling the Sith Lord's presence created in the Force, like an undertow of brackish water, threatening to pull him into the torrent.

Luke's mental shields were wrapped tightly around his intent, his own sense in the Force spread out like floodwaters, filtering through every space, aware of every mind present. Yoda had taught him once how to do this. It was sort of a hypothetical training exercise that Luke had failed, quite miserably the one time he'd tried it.

But he was stronger now. His grasp on the Force was ten-fold what it had been on Dagobah. He knew it. And besides, this was his only option.

He held the Emperor's gaze, muscles taut, ready to spring. _Ready,_ he sent to Han and Leia silently. The swoops had pulled around so they were no longer guarding the tunnel. It would be their mistake, Luke thought grimly.

"Your Highness," he forced out through stiff lips.

Through Palpatine's satiated chuckle, the old man relishing for a moment in the capture of his quarry, Luke snapped.

His hand snatched out and called his saber to him from Vader's belt. The Force was a wall of power pushing outwards behind the speeder and to the rows of troops standing parade-ready behind the Emperor, momentarily staying the firepower of all fifty-odd soldiers and their weapons.

_Go! _he thought wildly, as he launched himself at Vader and the Emperor, the blue blade springing to life. Distantly, he heard the sound of the speeder squealing away, the blaster fire from the troopers behind them, absorbing harmlessly against the Force shield Luke had created.

Vader met his oncoming lightsaber with bone-jarring strength, throwing Luke back several steps. Luke swung two-handed against the red saber, his mind split between the Force shield and holding back his opponent. A heavy mental pressure began to press down on him, bordering on pain, making him physically stagger against its weight, struggling to hold the shield just a _little _bit longer, until -

Hot pain suddenly sliced through him, throwing him violently against the pavement in a blur of actinic light. Luke let out an agonized gasp, lightsaber flying from his grip, his mental hold on the Force shattered. In the distance, he could hear the continued blaster fire; the sound of the swoops taking off in pursuit. Did that mean Han and Leia had gotten away? He didn't have the ability to wonder, as the next burst of blinding lightning shot out from the Emperor's fingertips, driving for ground, drilling Luke to the duracrete in another burst of hot agony.

"You little fool," the despot crackled, all traces of amusement gone from his voice, spindly hands still poised for another attack. "If this is the game you want to play, I can certainly accommodate."

Luke was trying to heave a gasp of seared air around the biting metal tang of blood in his mouth, his mind and body shocked to stillness, struggling to force his eyes to open, to see Palpatine approaching. He'd never even heard of such a use of the Force, had no knowledge how to counter it.

"It appears your son has yet to learn his manners, lord Vader," the Sith Lord sneered, standing over Luke now, peering down in feigned pity, a nauseating, dark shadow. "Though I will admit that little display was quite impressive. It shows me I was right about Vader's son. He truly is powerful."

The Emperor crouched down to Luke in an almost friendly manner. Luke scrambled to sit up, to get himself as far away from the old man as possible. Palpatine's hand shot out, seizing him by the front of his shirt, pulling him back toward him with surprising strength. Luke could see the wizened, rotting flesh, the eyes glowing ferociously in the cowl, could smell the stench of death. "But I shall enjoy teaching you a little respect, boy."

Luke was still trying to heave a full breath of air in his lungs, commanding himself to meet the despot's gaze, pushing away the pain still washing over him in waves, his mind fumbling for his lightsaber lying on the ground two meters behind him. _Han and Leia need to get away. _He needed to continue to provide a distraction, somehow keep Palpatine focused on him until they were safely gone.

"I'm a slow learner," he ground out, his right hand snatching out for the lightsaber that was suddenly arcing toward him. The blade sliced the air just past Palpatine's face, the old man jerking barely out of the way, rage in his eyes.

The lightning struck Luke again, fire coursing through his body, a black wall of unconsciousness threatening to sweep him into the void. Luke locked icy fingers around the lightsaber hilt - determined - even as he doubled over with an agonized cry, his vision whiting out. The lightning did not abate. Somehow, in the haze of pain, he managed to roll, lifting the saber, blue plasma blade coming to life in front of him to absorb some - most - of the electricity. His arm shuddered with the force of the current, which kept coming, the Emperor's gaze a malicious sneer lit garishly in blue fire. Luke pushed up to his knees with his left hand, stumbled to his feet, backstepping, gripping his saber two-handed to avoid having it ripped from his fingers again. His legs were struggling to hold him up. Luke gritted his teeth against the assault, _forced _himself to stay upright. If he went down now, he was a dead man, and Han and Leia would be at Palpatine's mercy.

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A diversion.

Cold dread gripped Han's insides as Luke muttered his intention to make a last-ditch effort. Only the kid could be this stupid. But what choice did he have at this point? Go with another of Luke's foolhardy plans or surrender. He chose the former.

As Luke ducked out of the speeder, the hatch closing behind him, Han slid slowly into the pilot's seat, his eyes locked on the scene ahead of him. "I don't know what kind of distraction the kid has in mind that won't turn us all into Bantha meat," he muttered.

Leia was silent, watching. Solo swallowed and eyed the kid's deliberate march toward the Emperor and Vader, his eyes bugging for some sort of signal.

There was no way they were getting out of this alive.

Palpatine was speaking to Luke now, something in his manner making Solo's skin crawl. Suddenly, Luke's hand snatched out - what was the kid doing? - and Leia's voice was shouting "Go - go!"

Solo slammed the speeder into reverse to the sound of blaster fire. In his peripheral vision he caught the brilliant flash of red and blue - the kid got ahold of a lightsaber? - and he gunned it hard to the tunnel.

Fresh blackness enveloped the speeder again. This time Han jerked the steering to the first sublevel. He knew this level well from his early smuggling missions for Masz, knew there were regular passages to the surface, provided they weren't blocked by Imps.

Predictably enough, two sets of swoops, their running lights preceding them in a yellow cone of light, swept in behind them.

"Leia?" Han called. "Can you reach the guns?"

The princess threw herself forward between the seats as Han pulled on the throttle again. She got a swoop in her sights, and fired.

There was a brilliant flash behind them, lighting up the dark. "You got one!" He yelped in surprise. What other things could this woman _do?_

"Don't sound so surprised," she shot back, getting off another burst of fire.

"Just keep them off our backs for a few more minutes," Han hollered, an idea blooming pleasantly through his mind. "I think there's something we can do for Luke."

"Why do I have a bad feeling about this?" Leia muttered, pumping firepower into yet another speeder.

"We have charges in that survival pack, top compartment." He was weaving through a collection of austere, stone industrial buildings, gesturing with a free hand.

"Why didn't you mention that before?"

"Didn't think about it before. Here," he took the guns. "I'll shoot, you dig."

There was an exit ramp just ahead, which would put him just about where they needed to be: one street over and five city blocks down.

"I count five of them," Leia announced, her voice muffled from the pack. "Does that sound right?"

"Perfect." They shot out of the tunnel into daylight, clear skies - no troopers in sight, and he began gunning for the empty skylanes.

"Are you trying to make yourself a sitting target out in the open?" Leia hollered angrily. "What are you _doing?!"_

"Get the charges ready, sweetheart," Han ordered, ignoring her. "We need two for our first pass."

Realization was beginning to dawn on her, silencing her for a moment. "You probably will only get one shot at this."

"Okay, then we drop them all."

Han fired the rear guns once more at the swoops to make them keep their heads down, then they rounded on the street the Emperor and his gang had blockaded. Windows open, the wind rushed through in a roar. "Ready?" Solo shouted. "Two on each end."

He accelerated to the level of the skylane, approaching the blockade.

Down below, the Imps seemed slow to react, not expecting their escaped quarry to return overhead like this.

"Now!" Solo shouted. Leia lobbed both charges from the open viewport. They swooped overhead, past where Vader, the Emperor, and Luke were still gathered - white light and blue lightsaber colliding at the center with a strange, menacing arc. Laser fire from the garrison they were flying over shot out, flashes of green light in the gray morning.

"Now!" Solo shouted again, and Leia dropped the remaining charges.

Behind them, orange fire bloomed in a terrific explosion, the sonic boom following moments later, rattling the speeder. Han let out a celebratory _whoop,_ as he circled around, saw they'd scored a hit. The even lines of troops on either end of the street were a shambles, smoke and flames shooting up to the sky.

"Now what?" Leia demanded behind him, peering down to see the destruction they'd caused. "How do we get to Luke?"

Solo glanced down at the trio in the center of the explosions, his mind working overtime. The Emperor, Vader and Luke still stood in a rough triangle, engaged in some sort of standoff, apparently unaffected by the explosions, Luke's lightsaber glowing ethereal blue in the gray pre-dawn light. Again, Han's skin crawled at the sight of Palpatine, even from this distance. It looked like Luke was holding his own...maybe. It was hard to tell. "I think we - "

He didn't get to finish that thought. Suddenly, the viewport erupted in a _Bang!,_ an ear-popping explosion, acrid black smoke barrelling through the speeder's cockpit.

Solo struggled to draw a breath around the noise and the smoke to shout something to Leia. Instead his lungs erupted in a fit of coughing. He gripped the joystick, pulling up as hard as he could. But they were going down - at a frightening rate of acceleration - and he braced for impact, though he could not see a thing, shouting something back to Leia before they hit. The speeder bounced twice along the ground and flipped.

It was the last thing he knew before the darkness took him.

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It was in a haze of faltering concentration, his vision burning with the electric sparks of the Force lightning, muscles sluggish from the Emperor's attack, that Luke realized peripherally the speeder had returned and was somehow wreaking havoc overhead.

"It would seem your friends have an early death wish, boy," the Emperor sneered, rocketing another burst of blue-white lightning toward Luke.

Luke caught most of the blast with his blade, throwing up a weak Force shield to guard against the arcing white tendrils that curled past his defenses. It wasn't enough. The shock jolted through him, sharp pain surging through his head and arms.

_Do not drop the saber, _he ordered himself sternly, backstepping again, willing all his strength into his hands, curled around the grip of the lightsaber was his lifeline. If it was torn from his grip, he did not think he had the strength to call it back.

Twin thunderclaps suddenly made him stagger back, losing his footing, the ground erupting in a strange, rolling wave, his ears singing. The Emperor's lightning attack came to a momentary halt, Luke stumbling further back as the onslaught abated, struggling to keep his feet under him, putting as much distance between himself and the Emperor as this distraction would allow, dimly aware of the chaos that had erupted from the lines of stormtroopers, white-armored bodies scattered across the ground, as if they were toy soldiers thrown by a small child; of the glass from the surrounding buildings, raining down around his head like crystal shards, catching the fires of the explosions in a prism, casting an array of color outward.

_Han must have dropped charges?_ Luke wondered foggily, backing further away from Palpatine, seeing the puerile rage spread across the old man's face - rage that was, momentarily, not directed at Luke.

Then Luke heard it: the unmistakable sound of anti-aircraft fire, behind him. He knew, in an instant, they were going to shoot the speeder down. He spun, fumbling with the Force, but felt sluggish, all his muscles frozen in place from the Emperor's attack.

"No!" he blurted as the short-range ground missile nicked past the speeder. For a moment, Luke thought it had missed by a hair's-breadth, but no, the speeder took a hit, plummeting downward to the ground just past the broken line of fallen stormtroopers, bouncing along the ground in a shower of orange sparks, cartwheeling twice before skidding to a halt upright, black smoke barrelling from the engine compartment.

"No!" Luke cried again, setting forward, Vader and the Emperor forgotten, the bitter taste of burning metal in his throat, his senses stretching out in bottomless dread to ascertain if Han and Leia were still alive...

"Your friends are dead, boy," Palpatine's voice came up behind Luke only a moment before the Force sang a warning and Luke spun, saber _en garde,_ ready to deflect another lightning attack.

Only it didn't come. The Emperor simply stood there, hands dropped to his side, apparently defenseless. And he was smiling at Luke, satiated in his victory, _knowing_ his words would hurt Luke far more than any physical pain he could inflict. "They are dead," he repeated slowly, voice dripping with self-satisfied glee. "Your efforts to protect them were in vain."

It was the smile that goaded Luke, who could not detect any signs of life from the burning speeder. His chest felt tight. He couldn't breathe. His mind fumbled with the Force, splitting his attention between checking on his friends' safety and reading the intent of the crooked, cowled old man leaning on his cane, apparently harmless.

Were they really dead? He didn't know. Like a rising tide welling, black anger swept through Luke. He was surprised at how easy it was, at the rush of self-satisfied energy it gave him, fueling his limbs with new strength, clearing his head of the numbing sluggishness with which he had been moving. If Han and Leia were dead, he would not let it be for naught. Not on his watch. Not while Luke held a lightsaber not ten feet from the grinning corpse-like face of the ruler of the galaxy.

Not while he could exact his revenge. Or at least die trying.

With a rage-fueled roar, pouring all his grief and anger of the last months - no, the last year - of his entire lifetime - Luke attacked Palpatine.

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	28. Chapter 28

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Luke attacked, launching himself with all his strength toward Palpatine, spinning the saber in a blur that would have decapitated the ruler had not a searing red lightsaber sliced down in front of his vision, throwing Luke back a full step.

Palpatine's gloating cackle rang out, as Vader's bulk filled Luke's vision, crimson saber pushing Luke back in short, swift strokes.

Luke cried out in frustration, throwing himself into a backflip to get clear of the tight little circle in which Vader preferred to fight, using his tremendous bulk to muscle Luke out of the way.

"I don't want to fight you," Luke ground out, slapping the next blow aside, anger still singing in his ears. "And if you don't want to help me - fine - just get out of my way!"

"You cannot help your friends," Vader rumbled, batting aside two more of Luke's quick parries. "And I suggest, for your sake, that you stop letting them distract you."

Luke's eyes narrowed. They were edging toward the line of exploded speeders, the dead and injured troops, their weapons scattered on the ground. His step almost faltered as a small light bloomed in his mind. He recognized it immediately _Leia! _She was still alive? And Han? He couldn't split his attention enough to tell.

Instead, Luke went back to the idea of creating a diversion. If he could somehow just keep the attention focused on him enough to…

"Why?" he snapped in response to Vader, a moment of insight giving him fuel for his next barb, guaranteed to anger the dark lord. "Are you jealous of the attention? Because I'm loyal to them and not to you?"

A rage-filled roar told Luke he'd scored a hit. The Jedi stumbled backward several steps under a new onslaught of blows, his arms shuddering with the force of the strikes.

"You are _my_ son!" Vader bellowed, swinging almost carelessly outward with his saber in an arc that would have taken Luke's head off had he not ducked. If Luke weren't so preoccupied with trying to stay alive, he might have laughed at the irony of what had just occurred; might have even mentioned it to Vader to see the dark lord's reaction.

Instead, he let his own remembered anger fuel him, and give him added strength. Was _this_ what Vader wanted to talk about right here, right now? Fine.

"What does it even mean that I'm your son?" Luke snapped, spinning, lashing out with a jab that nearly swiped off the dark lord's arm. "Does it mean you love me like a father should or that you simply own me?"

Vader didn't answer, barrelling forward full-force, causing Luke to lose ground, backstepping once...twice.

"News flash," Luke ground out, taking no answer to be an answer in itself, parrying twice, and managing another backflip that moved him out of range. He stood about ten feet away - a quick chance to catch his breath before the dark lord bore down on him again. "I _don't_ belong to you."

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Leia came to in a cloud of smoke, her lungs burning for air, sharp pain lancing through her head. For a moment, she couldn't remember where she was or what had happened. And then it flooded back to her: dropping the explosives - getting shot down.

They were in the crashed speeder? How it hadn't blown up was beyond her. Of course, the smoke pouring out of the engine compartment allowed for the distinct possibility that that could still happen.

She had to get out of here.

Her hand felt for the controls, one booted foot kicking outward at the hatch, which unlatched with a strained whine.

_Han. _

She whispered his name, the sound catching in her throat and exploding in a hacking cough instead. Was Han still here? Was he alive? Her fingers groped in the smoke for the fabric of his sleeve, felt his head lolling against the seat back. Panic bloomed in her gut. "Han," she hissed, shaking him now. "Wake up! Han!"

Biting her lip, she crawled out of the half-open hatch. Were there any stormtroopers left to finish the job of capturing them? It seemed sloppy of them _not_ to investigate the crash scene, especially with the hatch budging open the way it had. Still, she would be careful not to be seen, just in case they didn't realize she was still alive.

She had to get Han out.

She elbowed her way out to the biting duracrete, scored with carbon, sucking in a breath of air that was only half filled with smoke, swallowing back another cough. The speeder blocked her view of Vader and the Emperor, which, she could only hope, blocked their view of her. No stormtroopers in sight. There was a curious silence on the street, expectant, punctuated by voices and a strange humming sound.

Lightsabers?

Was Luke okay?

She pulled her focus back, remembering Luke's snapping admonition to her to utilize the distraction, and elbow-crawled to the front seat. Much of the smoke was dissipating from the open hatch now, which meant she could see Han. The smuggler was unconscious, an open gash on his forehead, blood flowing freely down into his collar.

He was still breathing.

Leia expelled a sigh of relief, her fingers fumbling for the restraints, shaking almost too much to undo the catches. "Han," she whispered again, patting his face. Solo didn't stir.

Getting her feet under her, Leia maneuvered her arms around his ribcage. He was much too heavy for her to actually lift, but perhaps she could drag him out. A thought occurred to her and she reached blindly past his seat to the survival pack, her hand closing on a spherical shape that fit just inside her palm.

Solo's deadweight crashed into her, nearly barrelling her back to the duracrete. Leia faltered, catching her balance against the side of the speeder, managing only barely to not tip completely over, when a voice behind her froze her again in place, tinny and authoritative.

"Freeze!"

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Luke allowed himself to be driven back. Vader had no answers to Luke's questions - only anger - and so responded with the only tool he had: brute force.

Anger. Luke had had a lot of it in recent months. He had tried to bottle it up, keep it in, push it down, pretend it didn't exist. And in spite of all his effort - his attempt to be Jedi-like and emotionless - the anger and rage inside of him twisted and mocked him, tightening around his heart, poisoning all his emotions.

Was this the only trait Luke had inherited from his father? Was this the point of familial resemblance - unadulterated anger?

Was this really the legacy he wanted to carry on?

Perhaps it was the calm, determined presence of Leia in the back of his mind, steadying in her level-headedness. Perhaps it was remembering all the times Han had tried to draw him out of himself, or the times Solo and Chewie had stuck their necks out for him.

Whatever it was, Luke knew suddenly that this was a family trait he wanted to banish. Vader's legacy did not have to be Luke's legacy. He did not have to follow in his father's footsteps.

Luke spun momentarily out of the circle of Vader's reach, took a steadying breath, dispersing that tight knot of fear and anger to the sky, which was growing pink with the coming dawn, flinging it to the wind, scattering the way the transparisteel shards had shattered across the ground, light entering his aching soul, a rainbow of color cast through a prism.

Like a fist slowly unclenching, allowing things to fall, wondering in a small part of his mind why the thought of this had felt so difficult - impossible, really - for so long, Luke simply let the anger...go.

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Leia didn't have to look to know that a stormtrooper was behind her, his blaster carbine pointed at her head.

"Turn around," the voice barked. "With your hands up!"

Han's blaster was in its holster, still wedged awkwardly between his leg and the seat. Her fingers were only inches from the grip, out of sight of the trooper, she knew.

Still, she didn't think she could free the weapon, twist away under Han's deadweight, and fire a well-aimed shot in the time it would take the nervous soldier to simply pull the trigger.

"I'm…" she worked to free her hand, trying not to fall backward in her crouched position. "Don't shoot. He's hurt."

"Stand up," snapped the trooper, coming around to the side of Leia's peripheral vision.

Leia kept her voice deliberately calm. "I'm trying to," she replied through gritted teeth. Her knee was effectively pinned under Han's shoulder. "My friend is hurt. He's too heavy, and I can't - "

"I will manage things from here, soldier," came a new voice behind her. The voice was addressing the stormtrooper, its timbre sending Leia's hair standing on end, an icy chill sweeping through her. She knew that voice - recognized it from the handful of times she'd been present at court, all finery and pompous boot-licking, or the times it had addressed the senate, while her hands curled in anger in fistfuls of her white senatorial gown, frustration that the sham of a governing body could do nothing but let it pontificate, for hours if it felt like it.

She twisted, the chill numbing her arms and legs and freezing her in place. She had never stood this close to the man - her father had seen to that, protective in a way that sometimes angered her. But now she could see, under the heavy black cowl, the inhuman yellow glow of his eyes, the folds of distorted flesh that made him appear more monster than human being.

"Princess Leia Organa," Palpatine said pleasantly, as though they were stood in a court reception, the clink of crystal wine glasses and the background music from a Coruscanti light-keyboard providing the soundtrack for their very cordial meeting, instead of her, crouched below him in a burning speeder, the weight of an injured, unconscious man pinning her awkwardly to the ground, while her friend battled for his life against Vader, only meters away, the electric crash of their lightsabers jarring her bones. "What a pleasant surprise."

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Luke stumbled over the foot of a fallen stormtrooper, caught his balance quickly enough to parry Vader's next swing. He backstepped over two more dead troopers before a movement caught his eye.

The Emperor was walking toward the crashed speeder.

A fresh chill swept through Luke, distracting him enough that Vader got in a glancing blow, searing the flesh along his right thigh in a burning line of pain.

Luke cried out, the blow enough of a distraction that it foiled his planned jump and turned it into a backwards stumble. He gritted his teeth against the fire burning there, scrambling away from Vader's oncoming blade, poised now under his chin.

"Do you always do everything he tells you?" Luke hissed, eyeing the point of the crimson blade, mere inches from his face, locking gazes with the dark mask.

"You do not know him as I do," Vader rumbled, barely-contained anger in his voice. "I must obey him."

Luke swallowed. An injured Han and Leia were both clearly in Palpatine's sights now. The knowledge that Luke would do anything - _anything -_ to keep his friends safe from the Emperor solidified in his gut, a stone weighing him down. This was his last resort.

"What if we make a deal?" Luke whispered, knowing the dark lord would be able to hear him and Palpatine, from that distance, would not.

"What sort of a deal?" Vader growled, the crimson lightsaber still inches from Luke's face.

Luke's gaze met the blank mask. Just as he'd released his anger into the wind, he let go of the tightly-locked shields around the bond he'd had with Vader, allowing the conduit between father and son to flow freely, communication and knowledge passing easily from one to another. He released the layers of defenses he'd built up in the past months, letting everything fall, relinquishing control.

For Han and Leia.

_Let them go,_ he sent to Vader, very sure of his decision now that he had made it. _And I will join you to destroy Palpatine. _

He paused, for effect, aware he had never addressed Darth Vader with this word before.

_Father._

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"What do you want?" Leia hissed, tucking away the fear that threatened to edge in, drawing herself up to her full height as best she could sitting pinned by Han's weight. Perhaps if she kept the Emperor talking, Luke would have a chance out there.

The object in her hand felt cold and heavy, out of sight behind Solo.

"It unfortunate you and your friend here were foolish enough to involve yourselves in Skywalker's cause," the Emperor tsked, his gaping smile, rotting teeth and folds of flesh giving him the appearance of a demented clown. "How unfortunate that you will have to die on his behalf."

Leia set her teeth. Was he threatening her? Not that was she was afraid to die - especially not for Luke's sake - but the ruler had another thing coming if he thought taking her out would be that easy -

"Palpatine!" It was Luke's voice, out of her range of vision, not too far distant. Leia realized the relentless crash of the lightsabers had stopped. She went cold. She knew this voice of Luke's: cocky, reckless, and agitated. This was the Luke who sometimes scared her; who disregarded all apparent danger and drove on instinct; who dared fate to take its best shot at him. She had seen this side of Luke only twice: Once, right before deciding to join the pilots to fly against the Death Star, and once when she, Luke, and Han had been cornered by a pair of bounty hunters at Tal Kano.

It was the voice of Luke about to do something very stupid.

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Something in Vader changed the moment Luke spoke those words through their bond. Something melted away, became decisive. It was noticeable in the dark lord's body language, the subtle shift from a reactive, defensive posture to...surprise.

_Let them go and I will join you. I will help you destroy Palpatine,_ Luke had sent. Now he could see the black helmet dip in a barely perceptible nod.

Proposal accepted.

Luke pushed to his feet, freshly energized, backing more deliberately toward the speeder, parrying Vader's blows - a cover for inching closer and closer to the Emperor.

Palpatine stood at the open hatch of the speeder. Was he speaking? With whom?

Luke reached out with the Force, scanning the two occupants. Han's sense was muted, and Leia's was a churn of anger, fear and determination.

Now Luke was aware that Palpatine had stopped talking and was turned, focusing again on Luke and Vader. Could Luke draw him a little further from Han and Leia?

Perhaps if he goaded him enough, he could.

_Don't be foolish, son,_ came the rebuke in the center of his head. Luke glanced up sharply, realizing he'd forgotten the open bond he'd formed with Vader. He bit back his first instinct, which was to slam his mental shields down and tell Vader to go jump in a lake.

_Their lives are forfeit. Don't throw this opportunity away -_

"Palpatine," Luke called out loud, glaring defiantly up at Vader's mask, at the implication that Han and Leia were expendable to the greater cause.

The Emperor's sharp eyes snapped back to Luke. Luke felt a thrill of fear at the possible repercussions of his next move, but he plowed on, his sights on a singular goal. "Do you always send Vader to do your dirty work like this?"

He parried a set of blows from Vader, aware that Palpatine had taken two dangerous steps around the speeder toward Luke, the Force humming anticipation in the air like an electric current.

"I admit I never quite expected this level of insolence from the boy, Vader," Palpatine growled to his henchman, his voice dangerously angry. "A problem we must rectify swiftly."

Luke ignored the warning and plowed on, his voice carrying across the half-street distance between them. "Why is it you use Vader as your attack dog? Because you don't like getting your own hands dirty or because you can't actually - "

The response was swift and violent. An invisible wall slammed into Luke, tremendous pressure erupting into pain, his head feeling like it might explode. Luke staggered, gritting his teeth against the pain, but still plowed forward, his ears ringing, stars sparking in his vision.

"Perhaps I need to educate you on who exactly you are addressing, child," Palpatine's voice cut through the pain to the center of Luke's head. Dimly, Luke could see the ruler still walking toward him, Han and Leia forgotten. Another hammer blow from the Force struck him, and Luke stumbled, dropping to his knees this time.

_Now's your chance! _He sent to Vader, biting back the agony of the pressure in his skull, the cry of pain that wanted to escape. His lightsaber dropped from his hand, even as he willed his arm to reach for it, to call it back through the Force. Vader did not seem to be moving. "Go!" he gasped out loud, before he collapsed, boneless against the duracrete.

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Solo stirred against Leia's shoulder with a pained groan, just as Palpatine stepped away from the hatch, his attention momentarily diverted.

"Han?" she whispered, easing him carefully to the ground, freeing her shoulder now that he had moved. "Are you okay?"

He grimaced, bringing a hand gingerly to the gash on his forehead. "I've been better."

On the other side of the downed speeder, Luke was still speaking, though Leia could not quite make out the words, nor Palpatine's dangerously quiet response.

Something was about to happen.

"Can you move?" she whispered. "I think Luke's in trouble."

Solo's eyes widened. He attempted to sit up. "Kreth, when is he not in trouble?" he muttered.

Han's words were punctuated by a sudden static pressure in the air, and a thick, breathless silence. Leia froze, her hand immediately going to her temple to rub away the sudden throbbing there. Then Luke's pained voice, a single word escaping him in an agonized cry: "Go!"

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Vader launched himself toward Palpatine, covering the distance between them in one smooth motion.

Even still, the Emperor was ready, cackling with laughter as the dark lord flew at him, saber raised, arcing in a blur of red light. White lightning spewed from his fingertips to meet the laser sword and throw the Sith lord back with the force of the counterblow.

Vader lost his momentum but retained his feet, pushing forward to strike again. Again, Palpatine sent a warning burst of lightning, most of which the dark lord caught on the blade of his saber.

"You are more foolish than I have given you credit for, my friend," Palpatine chuckled. "You _know_ you are no match for me. I always knew you would turn on me one day. It's a pity you did not realize how expendable you are, that your son is _mine_. He will take your place at my side and become more powerful than you ever could hope to be."

With a roar of frustration, Vader charged forward and attacked again.

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Luke crawled. He managed to get his elbows under him, to suck in a lungful of air. His heart was hammering wildly against his ribs, residual pain echoing in his ears, pulsing in his skull. _Get up get up get up…_

His ears registered the sound of Vader's lightsaber, the dark lord's angry roar. Luke flinched in remembered pain at the burst of lightning Palpatine unleashed.

The Emperor may be right. Vader was no match for him alone.

He forced his eyes open. His lightsaber was on the ground, five feet distant. Vader stood ten feet from there, saber in front of him, catching the lightning against his blade. Palpatine, his face a grotesque grimace lit garishly by blue light, was focused solely on his henchman-turned-traitor.

Taking a deep breath, Luke gathered the Force around him, pushing away the pain radiating through his body, rolling unsteadily to his feet as he called the lightsaber to him.

_On your left, _He sent through the Force, the deactivated saber in his hand. Three half-limping strides put him at Vader's side. He plunged into the fray, launching toward Palpatine's unprotected right side.

At the last moment, the Emperor gestured, sending a wall of the Force to slam against Luke. The Jedi was prepared this time with a retaliating blow of his own, but still staggering back a step against the force of the strike.

"Foolish boy," Palpatine hissed, flicking his fingers slightly. The lightning abated, but Luke had only a moment's warning before the charred husk of a burned-out swoop sailed past his head, just grazing past his ear.

Vader seized the momentary distraction to move in, slashing low at Palpatine's feet. A burst of Force lightning caught the dark lord full in the chest, spider-like tendrils crawling over the black life-support suit, throwing Vader back.

Luke cut in diagonally, catching the web of lightning against his saber. Palpatine's face glowed angry in the actinic light. "You will pay dearly for this, boy," he hissed. "You'll have the satisfaction of knowing your actions killed your father - "

As if to prove his point, the Emperor lunged toward Vader, three heavy pieces of machinery flying at the dark lord in tandem with another burst of lightning. Luke sprang forward to intercept the lightning, just as one of the chunks of metal caught Vader's helmet with a glancing blow and sent him sprawling, his lightsaber flying from his black gauntlet.

"You'll see the demise of your foolish _friends - "_ Palpatine gestured viciously in the direction of the crashed speeder, as Luke belatedly cried out to Han and Leia.

The speeder, still spewing smoke, crumpled like a wad of wood-pulp paper and was flung aside as if it were nothing. The fear hammering Luke's heart only somewhat abated as he realized through his alarm, that Han and Leia were behind the speeder - not in it - crouched carefully out of sight. Now they were out in the wide-open, staring in shock at what had just happened.

Luke lunged forward before Palpatine could make his next move. If he could just give Vader a chance to catch his breath, regain his feet, and rejoin the fight, they would be able to take him together.

"And you will have the satisfaction of knowing your imprisonment is of your own making," Palpatine added, volleying his attack again at Luke.

The Force lightning intensified. Luke caught most of it on his blade, but it kept coming, stabbing past his defenses.

_Father!_ He snapped into the Force, setting forward anyway. That was the second time he'd called the dark lord that. His jaw was clenched in determination, mentally sloughing off the pain of the attack, though the lightning kept coming.

In the distance, he could see Vader roll to his feet, sluggishly, as though he was wounded. He called for his lightsaber, but the saber was batted away by another object Palpatine sent sailing through the air. Palpatine launched another burst of lightning at the dark lord. Without his saber to deflect the attack, Vader dropped again to the duracrete, thrown backwards by another volley.

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Leia's heart was in her throat as the speeder was casually tossed back, as though weightless, whistling just over their heads, Palpatine's cackle of laughter grating in her ears. The Emperor launched himself at Luke, a cascade of blinding lightning spewing from his fingertips toward her friend.

Next to her, getting his feet under him, Han swore colorfully. She could see his eyes darting around for a weapon, for cover. She followed his gaze, toward Vader, and a cast-off object not eight feet distant.

Vader's lightsaber.

Palpatine's back was to them now, another burst of lightning thrown outward, at Luke. She could see Luke's face, the grimace of pain, the effort it was taking him to repel the attack, his inability to press forward. She could see Vader, virtually incapacitated on the ground behind Luke. Just when the dark lord attempted to roll to his feet, the Emperor struck out at him, throwing him back again to the ground.

This time the dark lord wasn't moving.

Leia swallowed. She didn't give a damn about Vader, not even if he was going to turn on Palpatine. He got what he deserved. But now Luke was without help. Something told her he would not be able to do this alone.

Her fist tightened on the charge, molded to her palm, the last of the explosives she had dropped when they'd swooped overhead. She couldn't detonate it here or she'd kill them all. But as a diversion…

Her eyes caught movement: Han had been inching toward Vader's discarded lightsaber. His arm reached out, fingers closing around the hilt. He turned slowly, his eyes catching hers.

Another movement caught her eye: in the distance, two stormtroopers - perhaps the only ones left standing - began walking toward them, apparently suspicious of Han's movement.

Perfect: a target.

She straightened, her thumb twitching over the switch of the spherical thermal detonator, silently thanking all those crashball games she'd played as a teenager in the palace courtyard on Alderaan, however unseemly, according to her aunts, it was for a princess to do so. She activated the charge and threw it hard, over their heads, past Luke, Vader, and Palpatine, to where the soldiers were. The detonator landed with an audible _clunk _against the duracrete pavement. There was a momentary realization on the part of one of the soldiers, an alarmed shout.

But Leia was already catching the lightsaber rolled to her by Han, ducking down to cover her head and ears.

The explosion ripped through the street, a column of orange fire erupting to the sky, the ground rumbling like a seismic event.

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Luke staggered as the explosion tore through the road, shrapnel flying, the heat from the fireball hot against his face and hands, even at this distance.

He knew this was the best shot he was likely to get. In his peripheral vision, he was aware that Vader, who had been closer to the explosion, still lay inert on the street; that Palpatine had dropped his hands, his offensive against Luke momentarily forgotten, turning as he was now to face Leia, the instigator of the explosion, with an executioner's rage.

"No!" Luke screamed into the vacuum of sound the explosion had left, his ears still sounding a high-pitch tone. No, he _could not_ allow Palpatine to get to Leia.

The princess was half on her feet, her face, covered with grime, determined, ready to end this at all costs. Two arm lengths away from her, Han, his own face bloodied from a gash on his forehead, shouted a warning.

Luke struck Palpatine from behind. The blade missed the Sith lord's head by centimeters, slicing through the heavy black cloak and tearing the hood in two. The Emperor whirled, a clawed white hand glowing with a brilliant purple orb of malevolent energy flung outward. The Force sang a warning. Luke ducked just as the old man suddenly froze, his face twisting into a grimace. Luke did not understand what he was seeing for a moment: a brilliant red flash sparking outward from the center of the Sith Lord's chest. Red, like a lightsaber.

Like Vader's lightsaber. Brandished from behind by Princess Leia Organa.

A scream, utterly inhuman, erupted from the despot's mouth. Then the purple orb of dark side power in his hand exploded.

Luke was prepared - barely. He threw the last of his strength into a Force shield around Han, Leia, and himself, felt himself falling, wave after wave of Darkside energy washing over him, pummeling his mental shields, threatening him again with unconsciousness. But Luke held on against the bombardment, against the wash of purple-white light assaulting his eyes through tightly-shut lids, and the burning pain coursing over his skin, the roar of sound screaming past him.

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When finally, the storm subsided in a whoosh of vacuum, the silence impossible, he forced his eyes open, tried to roll to his knees, and realized he simply couldn't.

"Han, Leia?" he gasped, sagging back down to the duracrete in a cold sweat, pushing back the pain alighting through his entire body, straining to see, to get a sense in the Force if they were okay…

"Right here, kid," a voice croaked in the distance.

The air was acid tang and smoke. Luke coughed, pushing to his elbows this time, forcing his eyes to refocus.

There was a massive crater where the Emperor had stood. Behind that, in a cone-shape of duracrete that remained unscathed, crouched his friends where they had been thrown back by the blast, clinging to each other for support as they struggled to gain their feet.

"Are you both okay?"

Leia raised her eyebrows at him, nodded without speaking as she stumbled forward. "Are you?"

He nodded unconvincingly, attempting again to get his feet under him. "Thanks to you."

She approached the crater cautiously, nudging the edge with the toe of her boot, ignoring his last comment. She still carried too much guilt to be pleased with herself for her part in Palpatine's demise. Or perhaps she was, like him, still in shock at what had happened. "He's definitely dead."

Luke stood carefully, steadying himself with the Force before his eyes went to the last place he'd seen Vader go down. The dark lord was still lying where he'd fallen, apparently lifeless.

"We need to get out of here before reinforcements arrive," Han spoke up behind him, his voice stronger this time.

Luke took several faltering steps toward Vader, as though Solo had not spoken, using all his available strength not to stumble.

"What reinforcements?" Leia pointed out quietly, her voice shaking with reaction now, adrenaline evaporating like the mists in the Yavin jungles. "Everyone is dead."

Now Luke glanced around at the carnage of the street, at the smoke still billowing upward in gray plumes, the scattered slag of dead stormtroopers and destroyed vehicles. And, of course, the massive crater where Palpatine had once stood, a blackened hole in the road.

He reached Vader's side, fully expecting to find the dark lord dead as well. The suit appeared to be malfunctioning, two small lights fritzing in and out on the chest plate. The mechanical breathing was working, then paused, then started again.

Utterly conflicted, Luke knelt next to Vader and reached tentatively for the black-gloved hand, his mind diving through the Force, fumbling for the torn mental bond between them.

Vader was...not dead. Unconscious - perhaps actively dying - but not dead.

_Never leave an enemy at your back._

He held the black leather-clad hand for a long minute, listening reluctantly to the broken rasp of the respirator, the pattern matching his own sporadic gasps for air, realizing with a sinking weight in his gut what he was supposed to do next.

Father or no, Luke should end this right now - plunge the lightsaber into the dark lord's armored suit and kill the last of the Sith lords. It could end the Empire, save untold numbers of lives, give freedom to those suffering under Imperial oppression.

He should do it. His conscience should be clear. Darth Vader had deliberately made Luke's life a living hell for months. He had destroyed Leia's home planet, tortured her on the Death Star, terrorized the Alliance, upended Luke's entire identity, captured him, cut off his hand.

Luke owed him absolutely nothing.

Yoda would want him to do it. It was the ultimate end-purpose of all Luke's Jedi training: to end the reign of the Sith Lords. Blood ties were irrelevant here.

"Luke?" Han's voice behind him made him start, dropping the dark lord's gauntleted hand. The smuggler came up to stand at Vader's feet, face and clothes streaked with soot and blood. "Is he dead?"

Luke turned, his breath short in his lungs, staring up at Solo's knowing expression. Han had been on this journey with him. He knew the conflict, the intractable anger that haunted him.

And yet, even Han's voice sounded almost hopeful. _Is he dead?_

Luke took another shuddering breath. He couldn't do this. Not for all his anger, all the expectations pinned on him from so many sources. He could not kill his own father.

He glanced down, his hand brushing across the chest plate, at the built-in comlink there. The alarm would sound. Vader's men would come for him.

"Yes," he whispered, glancing back up at Han, knowing his friend could read his lie, knowing they would have to scurry back down the tunnels again ahead of Vader's forces in hot pursuit, all because Luke did not have the stomach to commit patricide.

"He's dead."

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	29. Chapter 29

Well, friends, this is the final chapter. I want to thank all you lovely reviewers for taking the time to comment. Your thoughtful observations gave me insight into many of the inner workings of the characters. Your encouragement pushed me to keep writing. Thank you to everyone who followed and favorited this story. Like I said before, the plot got away from me and became much longer and more convoluted than I originally had in mind. True to its nature, I have now realized there is probably a sequel in here somewhere. This story has left us with more questions than answers, I think. What say you, readers? Are you up for a sequel, or are we too exhausted? (or is it just me? I may need a little break, lol!) Enjoy this final chapter and thanks for joining me for the ride. -T.

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In the end it was Han who pulled him up, stumbling with weakness, muttering something about "damned reinforcements". Luke hardly heard, following Solo, who had his wrist clamped in an iron grip, as if he thought Luke might run back to Vader's side and declare to the soonest arriving stormtrooper, his fealty to the dark lord.

He wouldn't do that.

Would he? He almost laughed at the ludicrousness of the thought.

"Come on, kid," Han snapped, not unkindly. His voice sounded far away, like it was underwater. Luke blinked at him, trying to focus his eyes. His friend had split into two: two Hans frowning back at him, speaking more words that mumbled strangely in the echo chamber that was his skull.

They needed to get out of there, before Vader's troops arrived. He said as much to Solo, who muttered something along the lines of "no kidding" before pulling him toward the burned out wreckage Leia's explosives had left.

Suddenly the Princess was behind them, her voice snappy, urgent. Luke half turned, dismayed at the way the world tilted sharply under his movement. Leia too sounded like she was coming from underwater.

Han found a swoop that was still in one piece. How had he known this was here? Luke wondered foggily, leaning heavily against the machinery as Solo gunned it to life. "Come on!"

Luke managed awkwardly to mount the speeder behind his friend, watching as a pair of Leias slipped on much more gracefully in front of the smuggler. Three people could fit on one swoop? he marveled distantly, even as Solo shot the speeder away like a burned Mynock and Luke nearly lost his hold on Solo's soot-stained linen shirt.

"Hang on back there!" Han snapped a warning to Luke, his voice louder in Luke's ears than the sudden whipping of the wind.

Luke gritted his teeth and willed his fingers to stay locked on the fistful of fabric. The muscles in his arms and hands were beginning to spasm uncontrollably, even as he tried to reach to the Force for an extra measure of strength.

He had no reserves left. His battle with the Emperor - the Emperor's attacks - the explosion - his internal battle over how to leave his father - had taken everything out of him. What parts of his body did not seem to register outright pain, seemed numb, as if he would float away.

"I'm…" he tried over the wind, his face practically buried in Han's shoulder. His mouth felt full of cotton wool, his numbed fingers slipping. _Falling._

_I'm falling._

But he couldn't say it, couldn't get his lips to form the words.

He had left his father back there, stretched out on the scarred duracrete. He'd left the man alive to hunt him another day, to terrorize the Alliance for another season, to prolong and build the Empire.

Luke was a coward.

Because aside from everything Luke wished could happen between a son and his newly-found father, the status quo had not changed. Likely it never would. And now his own actions would prolong this miserable war.

Would Leia ever forgive him?

The speeder had stopped now. Luke tried to look up to see what was happening - where they were - but every movement of his head sent the world spinning.

In front of him, Solo dismounted the swoop, and Luke nearly fell with him. The smuggler tightened his hand painfully around Luke's upper arm, snapping more underwater words, and Luke could only stare, frowning, trying and failing to decipher what was being said.

Now Solo was scowling at Luke - was it concern or anger - Luke suddenly had lost his ability to decipher facial expressions. They needed to run. His legs moved as though they were no longer attached. The churn of water in his ears was growing louder, washing out all other sound. He stumbled behind Han, the world careening. They were in a building - how did they get here? - and now a small, enclosed space - a turbolift? - his vision blacking. Where were the stormtroopers come to drag him back to his father?

Not only was he a coward, but he was a traitor. A traitor to the Alliance, to the cause he had so fervently believed in. When the moment of decision had been upon him, Luke had shown definitively that blood ties were stronger than conviction. He'd left Vader alive. In the end he'd become what Alliance Command already believed him to be: a liability.

Yoda would be disappointed when he told him. He was a failure of a Jedi. He'd failed at his appointed task: to be a guardian and protector to the many. He'd selfishly fought for the one: himself. He'd allowed his father to live when he should have completed his duty and killed the man.

There was a ship. _A ship?_ Han and Leia were pulling him toward it, the wind searing over the high tower of a rooftop landing pad. _How did we get here?_

He stumbled down against one of the landing struts, the wind mixing with the churning water sound in his ears, drowning out the colorful string of curse words coming from Solo. Was Han trying to hotwire the thing? He should help, provide cover. Those stormtroopers would be coming any minute. But instead, he sagged back against the strut, insensible for a moment, until Leia seized his arm, her voice sharp with alarm.

How did he regain his feet? Perhaps he crawled to the open landing ramp. By the time Solo was there, heaving him upright, Luke's vision was nothing but gray specks, rapidly filling in the spaces where he could see out - a white ship's ramp, the wide, streamlined cockpit, nerf-hide seat soft like velvet under his hand that caught it for support.

Then the gray filled up his vision, like sand being poured over the top of his head, suffocating, bringing a final, claustrophobic sort of blackness.

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"The medical droid is with him. He's resting."

Han nodded curtly, his eyes scanning the instrument display board out of habit, more than from a real need to see what was happening. They were safely in hyperspace, the stolen rich kid's yacht fortunately equipped with the most advanced medical equipment - short of a bacta tank - available, and a set of Imperial codes that allowed them passage past the quasi-military blockade waiting just in-system. That, or the Emperor's death had already sowed so much confusion among his troops, that a single luxury yacht casually departing the system was already beneath their notice. Either way, they were safely at lightspeed.

"Good. Find out anything?"

"The droid is still running diagnostics," Leia shook her head carefully, following his gaze to the instrument panel, perhaps remembering, as Han was, the arcing blue fire that had leapt from Palpatine's fingertips to skitter over the kid's lightsaber, of the massive explosion that had erupted from the Emperor's hands as Leia had plunged the lightsaber through the Sith Lord's back. It probably really shouldn't have been a surprise, then, considering, when the kid had crumpled down into a cold faint from where he'd been standing at the back of the cockpit, just as Solo had ordered him to strap in.

"I'll check on him again in a minute." Leia's voice was quiet, still on edge, after all that had happened; still thick with self-reprimand, as if she'd forgotten already the role she'd just played in saving all of their lives. "Hopefully we can treat him on board."

Solo nodded again, studying her. With shipboard facilities like those, he could dare to hope too. He wasn't in the mood for a repeat experience trying to sneak the kid into a planet-side Medcenter. "You should sit down."

Her eyes flashed, indignant for a moment, but there was no fire left - no energy to fight. That was too bad, Han reflected soberly. He liked her best that way: mildly hostile for no apparent reason. Maybe that was why he constantly tried to annoy her.

But not now. He could see the fragility just under the surface; brittle grief on the verge of cracking. He reached a hand out to her, almost surprised when she took it, allowing him to guide her to the copilot's seat. "He'll be okay," he murmured. "Time to rest."

She shot him a sidelong glance, resistant to the suggestion. "We should get that cut on your head looked at."

"My…?" he frowned, reaching a hand up gingerly to the gash, his hand coming away sticky with blood. He'd nearly forgotten it was there. "It's fine."

She scowled at him. "It's still bleeding."

It was causing a moon-sized headache as well, but Solo thought not to mention it. He could pop a few pain pills and ignore it. He was sure the medikit on the ship would be fully equipped. "It's fine," he grunted again.

Leia opened her mouth, as if to argue further, but instead she sagged back into the chair, clearly spent.

"You should get some rest," Solo repeated. "I haven't checked the cabin back there, but if the cockpit's anything to go by, I'd bet on some comfortable sleeping arrangements."

He didn't even add any snark to that last comment. The Princess ignored him, her eyes going now to the navicomputer, scanning the display, evading his suggestion, unappreciative of his lack of insinuation. "Where are we headed? You know we can't stay on this ship for long. Whoever owns it will be looking for it."

"Yeah," Solo frowned at the display, noting the ETA for the Kabr system in four hours. Many of the more modern ships contained internal homing devices in case they were stolen or missing. He wasn't sure if this one had the same, but it wasn't worth the risk to find out. "It's too bad - it's a nice ship."

"Did you com Chewie?"

Han nodded again, remembering the deafening howl of relief from the Wookiee on hearing Han's voice, knowing they were safe. "Yeah. He should be there in six."

The Princess chewed her lip. "Okay," she murmured. "Then we will head back to base to sort this out."

Solo peered at her, suddenly understanding. _That_ was what was bothering her. "You think Command will have changed its mind?" he asked. The Alliance Command may have agreed under duress to allocate resources to getting Luke out of Vader's and Palpatine's clutches, but that did not necessarily equate to welcoming the kid back into their ranks with open arms.

Leia knew it. Her expression was tight. She didn't meet his eyes. "That's what I'm going to work on."

"Does Luke have any say in what happens?"

Her dark eyes flashed again. "Why wouldn't he want anything other than to come back to the Alliance?" she asked tersely. "His whole life is there - everyone he knows, the cause he believes in."

"They tried to kill him," Solo pointed out mildly. "That puts a damper on things."

She sat forward now, earnest in her expression. "The actions of an extreme minority within the Alliance do not speak for the entire organization. We can change this from within. Luke just took down Palpatine and Vader. That _has _to count for something in terms of their view of his trustworthiness and character. The Alliance _needs _his skills and leadership. They cannot afford - "

"Princess," Solo cut in. Leia stopped her speech short, stared at him, perhaps surprised into the silence by the gravity of his expression. "You don't have to convince me of Luke's trustworthiness. Of course I agree with everything you've said. But there's something else you need to know."

Her brows knit together in a frown. "What is it?"

Solo cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "Vader, when we left him lying there in the street…." He set his jaw, knowing she wasn't going to like this one bit. "He wasn't dead."

She seemed to not register his words for a long moment, before opening her mouth, stammering, "What are you talking about? He was dead. I saw him. Luke said he was dead."

"Luke...was wrong."

"Wrong? What do you mean?" Her studying expression again. "Was he mistaken or…." Realization set in that dark gaze, "he lied?" She shook her head, confused, momentarily unmoored_. _"No...Why would he lie about that?"

"Vader was alive," Han repeated. "At least when Luke was kneeling over him. It was the kid..." he swallowed, feeling guilty at sharing this information with her, _knowing _how she'd react, and knowing instinctively that Luke wouldn't want to be the one to tell her. "It was the kid who called the Imperial reinforcements."

Her mouth gaped open, betrayal burning in her eyes, words clearly eluding her. She glanced back through the cockpit, to the corridor where she'd left Luke, unconscious, in the care of the medical droid. "_Why?"_ she whispered finally, eyes brimming. "Why? When we were that close? He let him _live?"_

Think about it," Han retorted, a little sharper than he meant to. "Love him or hate him, Vader is the kid's _father._ Did you or anyone else think that he would actually kill his own father?"

Leia swallowed thickly, dropping her gaze, realization flooding her eyes, followed by shame at being so quick to direct her anger at Luke. Han knew she wouldn't blame the kid - not really. Still, her shoulders slumped in a sort of exhaustion that could not be explained by anything other than resounding defeat. "That's it, then," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the even hum of the ship's drive. "Vader's still out there. We're back to square one."

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ooooooooooooooooooooooo

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The _Falcon _met them just outside the Kabr system, more or less on-schedule.

Luke sat in the small lounge of the stolen ship, leaning into the empty comfort of one of the three overstuffed chairs, having snuck in here to fend off the ministrations of the ship-board med droid. He could hear Han and Leia bickering from the hold.

He shut his eyes, and tried not to overhear their heated conversation, but it was kind of difficult in such a small ship. They were arguing about him.

Luke sighed, shifting carefully in his seat to find a more comfortable position. The med droid had dosed him with painkillers, a stimulant, and who knew what else. He'd gone into a Jedi healing trance for a couple hours, which had helped. He felt a thousand times better than he had a few hours ago, which enabled him to now think his situation through with a clear head.

He knew what he needed to do.

He'd told Han and Leia as much. He ached with the grief that he knew he'd only really start to feel in the coming days and months, when his new reality began to settle around him in its permanence. And yet, he knew it was what he had to do.

_I can't return to the Alliance._

He'd told them both, and watched for reaction to play across their faces, to see the outrage or the disappointment. There was neither. Han's expression was grim, his mouth set in a thin line; Leia's was troubled - lost - as if she was functioning on too little sleep to fully register what he'd just said. Probably she was, Luke thought.

Neither of them had asked _why._ Perhaps that was the most troubling of all. It was as though they knew there was really no other solution.

And _that_ was the part that felt like a punch to the solar plexus. The realization that he saw mirrored on their faces: that message, intercepted from Palpatine and Vader all those months ago had irreparably changed the course of Luke's life. It had set him on a path that took him away. He could not go back. There was no _undoing_ the actions and the reactions of those around him.

There was no undoing who his father was, no _unknowing_ the truth.

That old familiar anger crept under Luke's collar, the loss of control of his own life - his own destiny. That feeling of betrayal - by everyone: Ben, for lying; the Alliance for distrusting him and casting him off, Vader for no longer being Anakin Skywalker, for not being the father Luke had wanted - needed - and even Leia, for her anger, tucked away where she thought no one would notice; bitter disappointment that Luke hadn't killed Vader.

Forcibly, he pushed it back, casting out for peace. Though the anger was still there, it lessened, no longer throbbing in his temples with every beat of his heart. He released it into the void, just as he had on Coruscant, when he'd reached out to his father.

_Let go._

He didn't want to feel helpless rage anymore, no longer wanted to stand at the edge of that yawing pit beckoning him to lash out and seek his revenge on everyone who had used him. He wanted to forgive. The trouble was, he was not exactly sure _how_.

The arguing had stopped. Luke realized it was because of the _Falcon's _arrival, Chewie's anxious howling echoing over the com speakers.

Luke allowed himself a small smile as he carefully gained his feet, walking toward the cockpit, toward the sound of that familiar voice, toward that of Han's, snapping something defensive about his ship, overlaid by Leia's, giving her two cents.

He would miss this. Desperately.

He stepped into the cockpit, settling carefully into the chair behind the copilot's seat. The familiar half-moon of a battered freighter filled the viewport. "We'll get the tether and come across," Han barked into the com. "We're gonna leave this baby here to drift."

Chewie's questioning roar filled the small space.

"I already told you, pal," Han growled impatiently. "The Womuat system. It's a long story. I'll tell you on the way."

The smuggler snapped off the com unit, and half-turned his chair to throw a grin in Luke's direction. "It was next on our list of somewhat-uninhabited planets. You know," he shrugged, "until everything went to hell."

Luke nodded, and tried to smile back, feeling inexplicably sad. In an hour, three hours, five, this would all be gone. Han and Leia and Chewie would be headed back to the Alliance base, while Luke would be somewhere on a planet he'd never heard of, struggling mightily to forget he'd ever left Tatooine, destroyed a Death Star, become a Jedi Knight, or found his long-lost father.

"No poison vines or disease-spreading slugs - I checked," Solo added with a wink. "No swamps, mud, acid rain. I mean, this planet is practically paradise next to the places we've been lately."

"Is that meant to reassure him?" Leia asked, eyebrows raised. "The bar _was_ set pretty low." She turned to give Luke a smile of her own, reaching her hand out to him, the depth of meaning in her eyes overwhelming her capacity for words.

Luke grasped it, tightening his fingers over hers. "I promise I'll write," he tried to quip, returning the smile.

She laughed lightly. "You'd better."

He ached. Already, he ached with the loss. The loss of Leia, Han, and Chewie, of his friendships, of his purpose as part of the Rebel Alliance, of idolizing his dead, heroic Jedi father, of _knowing who the hell he even was._

And yet, he needed time to think, to sit still, to process it all. Not just the past few hours and days, but the past few years. He needed to decide who he was and what he stood for.

Because he didn't know anymore.

He could no longer be the happy-go-lucky hotshot pilot who had gotten a lucky shot at the Death Star. The universe was no longer so black and white, but a sea of gray. There was a dark side to everything, really: to Vader, to the Alliance…to himself. His father was extraordinarily flawed. And so was Luke.

All he knew at his moment was that he could no longer stomach the thought of any of it - the fighting or killing, his connection to his father, nor the connection that relationship afforded Luke to the Empire.

It seemed Luke's place in life was more tenuous than ever. Assuming Darth Vader had lived, he would be crowned the new Emperor. As Vader's son, Luke knew he could have a position in the Empire if he so chose. Not that he ever wanted to be a part of the Empire, of course. The fact was only relevant in the way it complicated his other relationships.

He could not return to the Alliance. His relation to Vader, his Jedi abilities, the actions of High Command all had effectively driven him away. Even seeing through with the demise of Emperor Palpatine would not ensure his trustworthiness to people who only saw him as Vader's spawn - a tool of coercion to use on the dark lord. It would be too dangerous. _Someone _would still be out to kill him, kidnap him, use him as a tool to get what they wanted. He would certainly not be welcome.

He had to assume, since Luke had gotten Vader what he desired most, that the dark lord might be content and stop pursuing him so relentlessly. Surely Vader, who could not fathom the utility in showing any degree of love for his son, would not want to tear the galaxy apart to find Luke just to _be_ with him.

No, Vader had what he wanted: power, an empire. Luke, on the other hand, didn't know what he wanted anymore.

Was he a pacifist? Or did he simply want to avoid being placed in direct conflict with his father?

He didn't know. He had wanted to save Vader - bring him back to the good side, find the small kernel of good he felt from the Sith Lord and drag it out to the light.

The truth was, Luke had realized, too late to change course: he couldn't save anybody. Vader, in the end, would make his choices.

And Luke would make his.

Han's voice, snapping into the com again, tore him out of his scattered train of thought. Leia released his hand, turning to crane her head to see. The _Falcon's _bulk drifted like a bumbling weather balloon over the dunes on Tatooine, bobbing as if on a gentle sea, its umbilical tether extending slowly to their ship. "Easy there, pal. Just a little to your right."

They stood, as the umbilical attachment locked into place with a muffled clang. "Any souvenirs you want to take as a token of this trip?" Han asked, turning to them, a wicked gleam shining in his eyes.

Luke knew the smuggler was only half joking. Solo was already planning on lifting the medical droid and the ship's entire supply of alcohol. He forced a laugh. "You're taking enough for the three of us."

Solo laughed in return, slinging one arm over Leia's shoulder and dropping the other around Luke's. They walked together to the hatch, toward an unknown future.

This was right, thought Luke. It was right to be here, right now, with the two of them, laughing like teenagers over a harmless prank, momentarily carefree, the weight of the galaxy lifting for a few minutes off their shoulders. He stole a quick glance at both of them - each still grinning - and memorized this moment, shored it away for all the future times when loneliness and isolation would try to get the better of him. This was the memory he would hold, tucked carefully away like the tiny scene in the spherical snow-globe Aunt Beru had kept on her knick-knack shelf; fragile, untouchable.

The thought gave him courage. Luke set his jaw as the hatch swung open and they donned their O2 breathers, stepping into the half-vacuum of the collapsible tunnel, Chewie's distant roar of greeting sounding small and tinny in their ears.

Luke set forward, the translucent membrane under his feet the only thing between him and the wide-open galaxy. He would dream new dreams, find peace somehow in an anonymous existence on a new planet.

He was walking toward a new life; a brave, brand-new beginning.

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THE END

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End file.
